Muds story, Child of Darkness
by Spyder1070
Summary: Murdoc growing up. Starting at the age of five, and moving up to the time he met 2D, and created Gorillaz. Some of the information in this story, was taken from 'Rise of the Ogre'. The rest is from my mind. FINISHED
1. Chapter 1

Jacob Niccals is sitting in the kitchen watching his five year old son Murdoc, trying to sing a song that Jacob has taught him. The boy is rather strange looking, with black hair and even blacker eyes. To look at his eyes, you would be rather hard pressed to find the pupils in them. His skin is a soft green color and he has very distinctive long fingernails, that really look more like talons. The only other notable thing about his peculiar features are his teeth, as they are sharp and pointed like a sharks. Not that the boys father has ever seemed to notice or care that this young boy was not your average run of the mill little boy. From the first moment he laid eyes on the child. Who he found dumped on his doorstep not more than two years ago. He should of realized something wasn't quite right, given the large raven that was perched on the handle of the boys pram. This child was different. The young boy watches his fathers reaction carefully, as he struggles to remember the words. He gets to the chorus and for a moment feels relieved that he has gotten this far, without making a mistake. Suddenly the words just seem to disappear from his mind and he stops. Jacob stares hard at the boy, waiting. Murdoc looks down at his feet in moment of sheer panic thinking hard, but the words just don't seem to come to come to him and his stomach tightens, making him feel sick. The old man slams the table hard with his hand and stands up, looking down at the boy threateningly. Murdoc puts his hands out in defence, stepping quickly backwards to avoid the third beating he has received since starting the whole song.

"How many times we gotta go through it!?" Jacob snarls picking up his belt from the table and turning to the terrified young boy. Murdoc cringes and looks to the door, for a moment thinking about escape. Jacob smiles and leans his weight on one hip, knowing exactly what the little boy is thinking. "I dare ya!" Murdoc looks back at his father, wringing his hands and biting his lip with worry. He knows if he did it would just get worse, he had nowhere to really run. Jacob Knows that to and smiles walking over to the young boy and grabbing him cruelly by the arm. Digging his fingers into the boys soft flesh. Murdoc yelps as Jacob lifts him off the floor and tosses him down to his knees. The belt swings through the air, catching the boy square between the shoulder blades. Murdoc cries out in pain and scrambles forwards, trying to get away. As Jacob brings down the belt again and again. Swinging it back high over his head and cracking it hard across the young boys back like a whip.

Half an hour later. Jacob sits back down at the table, laying the belt back on the table in front of him. Murdoc lays on the floor, still curled up in a protective ball, weeping and sniffling. His shirt has lifted a little, showing part of the young boys back. Some of the angrily burning welts on his skin, from the belting he has received. Can clearly be seen on the little boys back. They criss-cross over each other, making it difficult to count how many times the leather had come into contact with the young boys body. A few of the larger ones have broken the skin and small trickles of blood run down his spine. His father reaches out across the table and slides a cigarette from the packet in front of him, listening to the young boy sniffling. He gradually becomes annoyed with the sound and angrily turns once again on the boy. Reaching back his fist as if to punch him.

"Stop yer whingin' ya useless piece of shit. Ya think that was bad? Ha! Keep goin' and I'll really give ya summink ta snivel about." He snarls, lighting the cigarette and blowing the smoke out towards the small boy. Murdoc swallows hard and tries to stop crying. Slowly climbing to his feet and once again standing before the cruel old man. His head swirls a little, his vision blurring and his ears ring loudly. He closes his eyes as a feeling of nausea passes over him. "GIT BACK OVER THERE NOW!" Jacob yells, slamming his hand down on the table again. Murdoc jumps and stares at his father like a frightened rabbit. The old man moves as if about to stand up again. Murdoc moves quickly back into place and swallows hard again. He starts singing the song from the beginning again and hopes that this time, he'll remember it all. Finally Murdoc reaches he end of the song and smiles. Happy he has completed it without mistakes. He looks up at his dad, somewhere inside he holds his breath waiting for praise. But Jacob stubs out his cigarette and looks hard at the boy.

"About time an'all. What the fuck are you smiling about! Don't tell me ya think that was good. It was rrrubbish. Ya sing like a straggled cat. No. I take that back. The cat would sound better. Yer pathetic. Do it again and this time I wancha ta make me feel summink more than the need ta vomit. Ya got me?" Jacob snarls. Murdoc bows his head as his confidence leeches out through his feet and into the floor. He takes a deep breath and tries again, desperately trying to make his choking voice sound a lot better. Once again he reaches the end and looks up at his father. Jacob shrugs and stands up, walking over to the nervous little boy, who instinctively raises his hands in front of his face. The old man stares at him and grabs the boys hands, pulling them sharply from his face. "Better. Now git ta bed. We have work ta do in the mornin'." He drops his hand on Murdoc s head and turns the boy around slapping him on the buttocks hard to make him move quickly, Murdoc yelps again and moves quickly away.

The little boy climbs slowly up the stairs to his bedroom, his back pounding in pain. He opens his bedroom door and steps into the small spartan room. There is hardly anything in the room to show that anyone actually uses it. The walls are gray and in some areas the paint work is cracked and peeling. A mattress is on the floor with a pillow, but hardly any bedclothes. A small wooden box in the corner with a few odds and ends on top of it. The small boys meagre possessions. There is one average sized window on one wall, with dirty stained netting and green sun bleached curtains covering it. But overall there is nothing really significant about the room itself. Murdoc slowly peels his bloody shirt from his back, wincing as it has dried to the skin in some places. He turns around, twisting his small body, trying to see the wounds on his back. But can't really seem to get a good look at it. He gives up and tired, yawns and stretches. Moving slowly over to his mattress, flopping down onto it and pulling the pillow close. The young boy buries his face deep into it and quietly cries himself to sleep.

In his sleep. He dreams about his Mum coming one day to rescue him from this evil man. She is beautiful in his dream, but in reality he can't really remember quite what she looks like. His memory of her is more the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin. A fleeting glimpse of her smile and a laugh like the gentle sound of a babbling brook. She picks him up and holds him in his dream. Holding him close to her and telling him that he's safe now. Nothing will ever hurt him again and holds his head to her soft chest. He can hear the sound of her heart beat. Her soft breath as it blows warmly across his face. He sighs and hangs on tightly to the dream. Never wanting to let go. 'Don't let go of me Mum. Don't let go.' In reality. The woman will probably never come to collect her little boy. She is locked in a sanatorium for the insane and incredibly bored. But it doesn't stop the little boy from hoping.

The next morning the young boy wakes up and wanders from his room over to the bathroom. He yawns and stretches then leans heavily on the handle expecting the door to open, only to find it locked. He steps back and looks down at the handle, jiggling it. His sleep laden mind, not quite understanding for a moment. It dawns on him that Hannibal is obviously in there, as his father is the only one allowed to use the downstairs bathroom. Murdoc bounces a little from one foot to the other as his bladder cramps in knot of tight urgency. The boy knocks on the door quietly. Desperately trying to get Hannibal s attention.

"I need the toilet. Are ya gunna be long?" He calls out. For a moment there is silence, so thinking perhaps Hannibal hadn't heard him. Murdoc knocks again, but a little louder this time. "Hannibal?"

"Fuck off ya little scrotum!" Hannibal shouts back angrily through the door. The young boy steps back from the door with a sigh and clutches his crotch. He walks over to the wall and leans heavily against it, his back still a little tender from the beating he received the night before. The boy winces but for the most part ignores the pain, as he has far more pressing needs to think about. He slides a little way down the wall and stares at the bathroom door. Knowing his dad is going to be taking him down the pub later. Murdoc starts singing the song that his dad had taught him. Thinking perhaps that the more he practices it, the happier Jacob might be with his performance and perhaps his dad might even let him have something to eat. One of Jacobs favorite incentives, being that only people who bring in money to the house and don't make the old man look bad, deserve to be fed. If anything, it would take his mind off his urgent need to pee right now.

A few minutes later, Murdoc s stomach cramps tightly and the young boy realizes he is very close to wetting himself. Given that Hannibal doesn't seem to be coming out any time soon. The boy decides to give up and bodily presses himself away from the wall, letting the momentum carry him back into an upright position. Clutching his genitals tightly, moves quickly to the stairs and over to the front door. He bounces a little as he fumbles with the door and practically kicks it open as he rushes past it. Dashing around to the side of the house. Murdoc crosses his legs and desperately undoes his fly, gritting his teeth and sucking quick almost painful breaths between his unusually sharp, shark-like teeth. Finally he is able to relieve himself and sighs deeply as the pain subsides. He leans his head back, closing his eyes and slowly rocking back and forth as the tight feeling in his stomach and bladder ebbs away.

"Dad! Murdoc is pissin' on the side of the house again!" Hannibal calls from the bathroom window, almost directly over Murdoc s head. The young boy snaps his eyes open and is struck in the face with a bucket of water. He jumps back but it is far too late, water drips from his hair and down the front of his shirt. He looks down at his now drenched clothes, as Hannibal pulls his head back in the bathroom window laughing hysterically. Murdoc hears the front door creak on it's hinges and knows that when he steps around the corner, Jacob is going to be standing there waiting for him. He gingerly does up his fly and pulls his shirt down, walking slowly back to the front door. Sure enough, he sees Jacob standing at the front door, slapping a wooden spoon against his thigh impatiently. Waiting for the unfortunate little boy to show his face around the corner. Murdoc swallows hard, as the fear wells up in him and a tight feeling seems to wrap itself around his throat like an invisible hand threatening to choke the very life from his poor tortured body. Sometimes he found himself wishing it just would.

"Yer a filthy little bastard. What are ya?" Jacob snarls as Murdoc slowly peeks around the corner and slowly moves forwards. Stepping cautiously up onto the stoop to face his angry father. The little boy looks up at him for a moment, but the cruel face seems to burrow deep into his mind and make his head ache. So instead he looks back down at his feet and shuffles a little from side to side. Hoping that maybe this time, the spoon is just a threat.

"I'm a filthy little bastard." Murdoc mumbles back to the old man. Jacob looks down at the boys wet clothes and growls deeply. Murdoc looks quickly up at him, then back down to his feet. The fear he has of his Father, making him tremble slightly as a cold sensation makes it way through him and into the ground. The old man shakes his head and points the way inside with the spoon. Murdoc moves forwards and slides past the old man quickly, hoping to put enough distance between him and the dreaded spoon. But he isn't quick enough. As Jacob brings the spoon down, slapping him hard on the leg with a quick back-swing, making the boy reach back protectively and press himself against the wall by the stairs. He watches Jacobs reaction hoping for a clue as to whether that was all he'd receive this morning, as the old man steps inside and slams the door shut. Once again locking the boy in his tortured prison, away from the prying eyes of the world.

"Yer wet! Don't tell me ya pissed yerself again?" Jacob snaps, as he heads back to the kitchen. Murdoc looks up at him as the old man gets closer, rubbing the back of his leg. He's about to answer him, when Jacob reaches over and shoves the boy hard in the chest, slamming him up against the wall. He stumbles and falls to the floor, rubbing the back of his head. Just then Hannibal slides down the banister and drops down next to him. He stops and stares down at Murdoc who is trying to stand up. Looking carefully into the kitchen, to be sure the old man isn't watching. Hannibal steps forwards deliberately, directly onto Murdoc s hand, pressing down on it as much as he can. Wanting to hurt his little brother. The young boy calls out in pain and tries to pull away. Yanking on his arm and trying desperately to free his trapped hand. Hannibal smiles evilly and leans down pulling back his fist, ready to punch the now defenceless little boy. Murdoc looks up and raises his arm in defense, looking appealingly at his older brother.

"Leave the boy alone and git in here!" Jacob snaps at Hannibal from the table in the kitchen. The older boy stops and looks up. Sighing he instead slaps Murdoc aside, then smiles and marches confidently into the kitchen. The young boy slowly gets to his feet and hears Hannibal yelp, as Jacob slaps him in the ear. With a secretive smile, Murdoc turns his shining eyes towards the doorway, rubbing his now aching hand and walks quietly into the kitchen.

Jacob is sitting at the head of the table, eating a hearty meal of bacon, eggs and toast. Murdoc hungrily licks his lips as his stomach growls at the sight and smell of food. The young boy hasn't eaten for two days. Punishment for what the old man considered a terrible performance. He watches as Jacob shovels another forkful into his mouth and practically drools at the sight, then looks over at Hannibal sitting quietly in the corner, munching on a piece of toast and occasionally reaching up to rub his aching ear. Not thinking. Murdoc walks over to the fridge and pulls open the door. Suddenly a book flies across the room, skimming past Murdoc s head and slamming into the sink. Murdoc snaps his head around in panic and finds Jacob standing, glaring angrily at the young boy. Hannibal grins like a cat from the corner and pops the last piece of toast into his mouth.

"What the fuck do ya think yer doin'?" Jacobs snarls, curling his lips back over his jagged yellow stained teeth. Murdoc stares at him hard for a moment, thinking quickly. His eyes dart from the old man down to the table and back again. He swallows the knot of panic that has risen sharply in his throat and gives the old man a quick fleeting smile, hoping to somehow disarm the old man and get out of yet another beating.

"Gettin' you another beer. It looked like you'd finished that one. I. I thought I'd save ya the trip. Sorry." He answers him weakly, hoping the small lie would be enough. Jacob quickly looks down at the bottle on the table and picks it up. Sure enough it is practically empty, the old man looks back up at Murdoc standing there at the fridge and shrugs. He tosses back the last of the liquid and sits down, sliding the now empty bottle away from him across the table. Hannibal has stopped smiling and is now glaring at the young boy, angry because he can see straight through the little boys white lie and is annoyed that Jacob hasn't.

"Humpf! First bright idea you've ever had." Jacob grumbles, then looking sharply over at Hannibal sitting in the corner, reaches out and slaps him across the back of the head. "Why can't you be as smart?" Hannibal pulls away, raising his arm defensively as though expecting the old man to stand up and beat him again. Murdoc walks up to his dad with a fresh beer, putting it down on the table in front of his Father. And is quite surprised when Jacob invites him to sit close. The young boy smiles and joins his Dad at the table. Jacob rubs the little boys head almost affectionately and hands him a slice of his toast. "Here. Eat that." Jacob smiles, as Murdoc hungrily gobbles down the bread. Wrapping his arm around the boy, Jacob almost seems to be hugging him. Grateful for the momentary affection, Murdoc snuggles down in the protective crook of his dads arm. Hannibal glares at the young boy jealously from his corner, his eyes glinting as if on fire. Murdoc sees him and presses himself closer to his dad. For the moment, the old man is pleased. But the little boy knows it never lasts long. So for now, he'll take whatever Jacob has on offer. If anything it may just be enough to get him out of a beating from Hannibal.

Breakfast over, Jacob walks with Murdoc to the front door. He opens the door and gently ushers the little boy out and walks down the stoop to the gate. Murdoc sticks close to the old man as Hannibal shuts the door behind them and locks it. Murdoc quickly walks ahead of his dad and out onto the path, moving a little up away from the direction he knows Hannibal has to go. The old man joins him and they both walk down to the corner to wait for the bus that will take the both of them to the funeral parlor where the old man works. Leaving Hannibal to walk in the opposite direction to go to school. The little boy relaxes and walks quietly alongside his father.

"Guess next year, you'll be goin' with yer brother hey?" Jacob smiles down at Murdoc. The little boy gulps as it dawns on him how right that was. He shakes the thought from his head and steps forwards, looking for the bus. Jacob light another cigarette and sits down on the seat. The old man leans over and brushes a spot of dust from his leg, then looks up at Murdoc who is jumping in and out of the gutter. "Stop bein' daft and come here." Jacob growls at the little boy. Murdoc looks quickly up into the old mans face and begins to see the familiar scowl growing again. He moves quickly back over to his dad, hoping it will disappear again and today, will be a good day. He stands next to him and waits to see if Jacob shoves him away. For Murdoc, it would be a sure sign as to whether his dads good mood has truly vanished. Jacob sits back and puffs away at his cigarette, leaving the boy alone for now. Murdoc breathes a sigh of relief and stands quietly beside him. Happy that for now, everything is fine.

The bus arrives and Jacob and Murdoc walk over to it. The young boy steps inside and quickly grabs two vacant seats by the door. The old man sits next to him and they both wait as the other passengers make their way onto the bus. Murdoc stares out the window at the passers by. A young girl holding her mothers hand passes and looks back at him. He smiles at her and waves, trying to be friendly. But the little girl makes a face, poking out her tongue. Murdoc s happy mood slumps and he turns back to the front sadly and waits for the journey to begin. The bus loaded, it pulls away from the curb and heads off down the road. Murdoc once again looks out his window, watching the buildings slide by. The young boy mentally crosses off the familiar landmarks in his mind. Occasionally he looks around the bus at the different people whenever it stops to take on passengers, but for the most part he remains staring out the window.

Finally they reach Jacobs stop and they both get up and stand by the door. It opens and Murdoc jumps out and waits for his dad. Jacob smiles at the driver and steps down, joining his son on the path, before they both head off in the direction of the parlor. Murdoc reaches the door first and pulls it open, holding it for his dad. The old man walks through and drops his hand on the little boys shoulder. Murdoc looks up smiling at his dad, but this time Jacob doesn't smile back. They head into the back room and Murdoc walks over to his little corner. He flops down and watches as his dad sets to work. The day is long and Murdoc quickly becomes bored, usual for him. He looks about whenever the Boss isn't around and walks over to his dad, who at the time is assembling a coffin. He hands him the things Jacob asks for, keeping an eye out for the Boss and quickly moving back to his little corner whenever he sees him, so his dad won't get into trouble. Having watched the old man many times, Murdoc at his young age could build a simple coffin with his eyes closed. Even Jacob himself said so once, which delighted Murdoc almost making the little boy cry with happiness. Impressing his dad, was something the little boy deeply wished to do. But Jacob set the bar so high, that it was an event that very rarely happened. Still, it didn't stop the little boy trying.

Lunch time arrives and Murdoc fetches Jacobs coat. Now it was time for Murdoc to go to work. Jacob and the young boy walk down to the pub on the corner, one of several of the old mans favorite watering holes. He takes a seat at the bar and Murdoc steps forwards, clearing his throat. The punters look up from their drinks and smile, seeing Murdoc there at lunch time was a familiar sight and they all knew the little boys routine. Murdoc begins to sing and occasionally a coin is tossed at his feet. Booze money for his dad. At the end of each song, the little boy gathers up the money and thanks everyone, then takes it over to his dad, before returning to his spot and starting the next song. Sometimes one of the non-regulars complain at the old man, saying that such a little boy shouldn't be made to do such a thing. But most of the regulars argue the person down, saying that Murdoc seems to enjoy it and to leave the boy alone. Murdoc doesn't enjoy it though, except on days like today. It doesn't seem so bad when Jacob is happy, he tends to let a few small errors slide. When Jacob is angry, every tiny mistake is met with a savage beating when they get home again. Jacob looks down at his watch and whistles at Murdoc, the little boy looks back at the old man over his shoulder and nods. He finishes the song and bows to the audience who stand and applaud the little boy loudly. Murdoc smiles back and picks up the money at his feet. He walks with his dad to the door, looking back and waving goodbye as he walks out. He looks up at his dad, waiting to see if he'd done a good job. But Jacob stares firmly ahead as they make their way back to the parlor. A knot of panic swells in the little boys stomach. But Jacob opens the door of the parlor and smiles down at Murdoc as he walks through. He breathes out a sigh of relief. Yes. Today was a good day.

The day over, Jacob and Murdoc head back to the bus stop. Jacob is now talking to Murdoc, who hangs on every word. The old man hardly ever actually talks to the little boy, except to insult him or yell at him, so the little boy savors every good moment as though it's the last. Especially when it comes to money and finance. Jacob and he head to the next pub and walk inside. Once again, Jacob sits by the bar and Murdoc steps forwards. He clears his throat and is about to start, when the old man interrupts him with a small announcement.

"He's got a new song now." The old man says, as the barman slides a beer down the bar to him. The punters give the young boy a small spattering of applause and wait. Murdoc tenses nervously, but shakes it off and slowly begins. He sings the song all the way through to the end and smiles as the punters applaud, some throwing money and others coming over and patting the little boy on the back, praising him. He looks back at his dad and is surprised to see the familiar scowl is firmly back on his face. Murdoc made a mistake. The little boy blanches and starts thinking through the song quickly, trying to work out what he did wrong. But the show must go on, he clears his throat and goes through his list of songs. The happiness now gone, replaced with fear. He knows when he gets home he's going to be beaten. He wishes that time would stand still. But before he knows it, it's time to go home. He finishes the song and picks up his money, bowing to the audience before joining his dad at the door, he waves goodbye and follows the old man back to the bus stop. Jacob silently stares ahead his arms folded firmly over his chest. Murdoc moves close, but is roughly shoved aside confirming the young boys fear. He made a mistake.

The bus arrives at their stop and the two disembark. Jacob quickly makes his way back to the house, Murdoc slowly bringing up the rear and not really wanting to walk through the front door. Jacob slams open the front door and stands there waiting for the terrified little boy. Murdoc steps shakily onto the stoop and looks up at the old man pleadingly. Jacob grabs him by the arm and yanks him inside. The beating starts. He throws the little boy against the wall, nearly knocking him unconscious. Murdoc s head reals and he can taste blood in his mouth, suddenly his dad is standing over him. He slaps him hard across the face, knocking him back to the floor. Murdoc struggles to move away, but the old man grabs him by the hair and drags him physically up the stairs to his room. Screaming abuse at him and accusing him of making him look like a fool in front of all of his friends. He reaches Murdoc s bedroom door and tosses him inside, the little boy hits the floor and slides almost the length of the room with the momentum. Jacob steps in and slams the door shut. The defenceless boy screams can be heard, as the old man beats the tiny boy into unconsciousness.

The next morning Murdoc s door opens and the little boy steps through. His head bowed low in defeat, sadness and pain. He looks over at the bathroom door and finds it's open. Slowly walking in, Murdoc turns and shuts the door locking it behind him. He goes to the toilet and then makes his way over to the sink, taking the small stool next to it and sliding it into place. The little boy climbs up and takes a deep breath before looking at his reflection. His face is covered by a large bruise. One eye, nearly punched shut. Murdoc chokes back the tears and lifts up his shirt. His chest and side are covered in dark purple and green bruises. Some of which clearly are in the shape of Jacobs fist. Murdoc drops the shirt again and is suddenly overtaken by the need to vomit. Coughing and spitting, he looks down at it in the sink. He can see theres blood in it, but knows there is no point telling his father. Jacob, just doesn't care. He washes the sink and rinses out his mouth, then steps down and drags the chair back to the wall. Taking off his pants, the little boy draws himself a warm bath, then slides in and lays back. The warm water seeming to melt away the pain in his body. Tears well in the little boys eyes and he ducks his head under the water, vowing never to come out again. As far as Murdoc is concerned. Death is a far better option, than to be forced to live a life like this.


	2. Chapter 2

Murdoc wakes up early one morning and slides from his bed. He walks from the bedroom rubbing his eyes, and crashes straight into his older brother, who was walking to the bathroom. Before Murdoc can react, the older boy grabs him under the armpits and swings him round, holding him over the railing and threatening to drop him down the stairs. The little boy whimpers an apology and hopes his brother is just playing a mean joke on him. Which is something that Hannibal likes to do on various occasions, especially when the older boy feels powerless. Hannibal smiles, feeling much more confident now, pulling him back, and dropping him to the floor. Now that he had gotten the reaction he was looking for, he didn't see the need to take it further. But still wanting to make sure Murdoc knew his place in the pecking order, he smiles cruelly at the young boy, flexing his hands into tight fists. The young boy recognizes the look on Hannibal s face, from the many times he'd been hit and kicked by his brother before, and quickly scoots back away from him, trying to get out of the way. But he caught the look too late, and as Hannibal kicks out at him, it catches the young boy in the upper part of his leg. Finally satisfied, the older boy marches confidently to the bathroom door, smiling to himself. Murdoc clutches his thigh, pressing back the tears as Hannibal walks into the room, shutting the door behind him. The little boys eyes flash angrily for a moment, and Murdoc defiantly flips him off, before going back to nursing his leg. The pain subsides a little and Murdoc stands up. He waves off the idea of waiting for the bathroom, knowing Hannibal has no intention of letting him in now, and marches down the stairs. Heading outside, Murdoc walks out the gate and down the street to the end, then turns and heads down the road. He comes to a small alleyway and turns into it, heading down to the end and stopping by a small wall. Looking around carefully, the young boy undoes his fly and relieves himself on the wall, whistling happily and knowing that from here, Hannibal couldn't possibly see him and say anything at all. He finishes and doing himself up, walks back down the alley, heading for home.

It is now two weeks before the young boys sixth birthday, not that birthdays have ever made a difference in the Niccals household. Birthdays are just another day, none but his fathers are ever celebrated. As far as Jacob is concerned, the boys are just something to use and abuse as he sees fit. Not worth the money for a present or a cake, let alone a party. Still, it's a date Murdoc is not looking forward to at all for two reasons. On the one hand, having to go to school with his brother and his brothers friends, seems daunting. The young boy had met a few of Hannibal s friends before, and they didn't seem to like him much either. At the same time, he didn't like the thought of spending all his day with Jacob down the pub, trying to impress the man, who doesn't seem to want to be impressed. Unable to choose between the better of the two, Murdoc shakes the thought from his head and looks up as he approaches the front gate of his house again. Right now, in his own mind, Murdoc had beaten Hannibal. Maybe it was a small victory, but to the little boy it was the biggest thing in the world. He opens the gate and hop-steps to the door, in a small celebration of this moment of triumph. The door suddenly opens, as the young boy alights on the stoop. The angry eyes of Jacob stare down at him, blazing like two fiery volcanoes. Making the tiny boy feel smaller than ever.

"And where the fuck have you been?" The old man demands, grinding his teeth and staring down hard at the little boy. Looming down upon him like a hawk swooping down upon it's prey. Murdoc swallows hard and bows his head, knowing that obviously, even though he wouldn't of known where he'd gone, Hannibal had still taken the opportunity to snatch back a little power from him. Although it bothers the little boy, it still felt good to know that Hannibal would of had to shift gears a little to compensate. He moves his weight nervously from one foot to the other thinking. Then looking back up to the old man he smiles weakly, thinking maybe he could move this back into his favor after all. Jacob tips his head slightly and stares back at the young boy waiting, each moment that ticks by, making the old man angrier and angrier. Murdoc clears his throat and points back the way he'd come.

"I thought I saw a fox near the bin and I chased it dad. I know you hate it when they make a mess. Sorry." Murdoc lies, bowing his head again and mentally crossing his fingers. Jacob steps down from the stoop, and looks up the road in the direction the young boy had been pointing, then looking back at him, he furrows his brow and leans heavily onto one hip. Unsure as to whether the boy was telling the truth or not, he finally licks his dry lips and raises an eyebrow. Deciding that it did almost sound like a plausible enough excuse, the old man folds his arms over his chest, pulling himself up to his full height. But Murdoc had lied before, and the old man wasn't going to be fooled that easily. So just to be sure, he continues staring down hard at the boy, hoping to throw him off guard and catch him out. Murdoc looks up at him and shudders, as the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Suddenly the old man looks even more frightening to him now, than ever before. Murdoc can see plainly that he has to do a little better than that. His mind races as he continues to search for someway of getting out of this.

"A fox?" Jacob asks quizzically, eying the boy with a small amount of suspicion. Murdoc nods and shrugs his shoulders, a small twinge of panic shoots up his spine and stops at the base of his skull. He remembers that generally foxes aren't seen around at this time of the morning and perhaps that is why Jacob was finding it a little difficult to believe. But now that he'd started it, he had no choice but to continue. Thinking quickly, he looks deeply into the old mans eyes although he has never liked the way they gleam at him. And with as much conviction as he can, finishes off his little story. Never allowing his eyes to waver for even a second from the old mans gaze, he gives it everything he's got.

"Yeah. But when I got to the end I saw it weren't. It was just a dog. But they make about the same mess, hey?" Jacob looks down at him and ushers him inside, taking one final look back down the road in the direction the young boy had pointed. The look on his face is not as angry as before, but still it's not quite enough for Murdoc to know if he'd managed to get away with it or not. The old man closes the door and steps over to the young boy, dropping a hand onto his shoulder and gently guiding him to the kitchen. Murdoc breathes a sigh of relief, his lie had worked.

"Yep. They do at that. Good work son." The old man mutters, patting him on the shoulder. Murdoc s mouth drops open in pure shock. Not quite believing he heard what his dad had just said. Jacob has never praised his sons like that before. Certainly never his youngest. He smiles to himself and takes a mental note, deciding that lies do indeed get you exactly what you want the most. Murdoc walks over to the fridge and takes a beer from the bottom shelf, bringing it back and placing it in his fathers waiting hand. This had been a routine he had adopted and it seemed to please his father. And what pleased Jacob, tended to work in favor for the young boy. Then quickly taking his seat, Murdoc patiently waits for his fathers permission to eat. Jacob cracks open the bottle and takes a large swig from it, he licks his lips and glances up at the waiting child. Sighing almost impatiently he waves the boy into the kitchen with a nod. Murdoc stands and goes into the kitchen again, fixing himself a simple sandwich, which is about all he knows Jacob would allow. The old man watches the boy for a while, before opening the paper and reading through the sports section.

Hannibal makes his way into the kitchen and is about to head across the room to the fridge at the other end. When he is suddenly stopped by his fathers arm, barring his way. The older boy looks down at it, not quite sure what to expect. Jacob brings his fingers together, rubbing them in a familiar way. Then opening his hand and waiting for the money he knows the boy made yesterday. Not once even looking remotely in the older boys direction. Hannibal sighs and digs into his pocket, bringing out a few bills and placing them into his fathers waiting hand. The old man peeks around the edge of the newspaper at the money, before shooting the older boy an incredulous look. Hannibal steps back holding up his hands in surrender.

"I swear. That's all I got." Hannibal complains, he looks down at his fathers face and waits to see if he can go. Jacob shakes his head and points out of the kitchen, indicating that his answer to the boy is no. Hannibal steps back and turns, throwing his hands into the air and waving the whole thing off in disgust. " That's just fuckin' lovely." He mutters angrily and grabbing his bag in rage, slams his way out of the house. Murdoc smirks at the retreating boy and is surprised when Jacobs hand connects with the back of his head. He looks up into the warning eyes of his father, then drops his gaze to the floor silently, knowing that for just that moment he had overstepped the mark. Jacob takes another swig from his beer and points vaguely at the cigarettes on the table. Murdoc looks up and sees him in time and reaches out to the pack. Pulling one out, he places it between his fathers waiting fingers. Jacob puts it in his mouth and draws on it without looking, then snatches it back and looks at the end.

"Yer s'pose to light it fer it to be any good to me you idiot!" He snaps at the boy, throwing it back at him. Murdoc ducks his head under his arm, expecting to be hit. But Jacob goes back to reading his paper, once again waiting for his cigarette. The young boy looks around on the floor and eventually finds the illusive cigarette, he picks it up and looks back up to the old man. Jacob holds out his fingers, waiting again. Murdoc places the cigarette in his own mouth, and picks up the lighter. After a few failed attempts he finally manages to get it working and lights the cigarette, drawing deeply. The small boy suddenly bursts into a fit of coughing, taking the thing from his mouth, and choking back the disgusting taste. Jacob chuckles, taking the cigarette from him, smiling to himself from behind his paper. "You'll be right. Just suck it down kid, it's good fer you." The old man grins, not taking his eyes from the page. Murdoc flops back in his seat as a wave of nausea passes quickly over him.

That afternoon Murdoc and Jacob arrive back home. The old mans arm still draped about his shoulders and Murdoc grinning happily from ear to ear. Hannibal watches them approach from the upstairs bedroom window. He grinds his teeth, as his eyes glint down at the young boy with envy. Then turning from the window, he quickly makes his way out of his room and to the steps, just as Jacob and Murdoc walk inside. He smiles at his dad and walks up to him, sliding himself between the two of them. He shoves the young boy aside and begins trying to take the old mans attention from Murdoc and back onto himself.

"Hey dad. I got summink ta tell you." Hannibal smiles. But the older boys attempt fails, and Jacob shoves the older boy away , glaring at him. Hannibal stumbles and almost falls over. Flailing his arms before him, trying to stop himself from falling flat on his face. Murdoc sees this, and quickly turns his attention upstairs, pretending not to of seen anything, just as Hannibal s eyes turn violently on the young boy. If anything, Murdoc has learned that Hannibal hates to feel humiliated. Thinking that perhaps Murdoc hadn't seen, the older boy scrambles back to his feet and follows Jacob into the sitting room. "I got this scam goin' in school. Look what I made." Hannibal continues, still trying to gain some praise from the old man. Murdoc yawns and heads up to his room, not really interested in the outcome of Hannibal s attempt at getting Jacobs attention. He presses open his door and slides out of his jacket, dropping it onto the end of his mattress. Flopping down onto it, Murdoc presses his face into the pillow and sighs deeply. The young boy turns his head to one side and stares at the blank dirty wall. Today was a good day and as far as he was concerned. So long as it stayed that way, he could happily have the whole world end right here. He rolls onto his back and slides his arms behind his head, closing his eyes.

That night the young boy is suddenly woken by a weight on his stomach. He snaps his eyes open and through sleep laden vision, tries to see what is holding him down. His vision slowly clears, and he finds Hannibal staring down at him angrily. The young boy tries to snatch his hands from behind his head. But at that precise moment, Hannibal grabs both of the boys wrists, and presses them down firmly against the mattress. Moving them carefully, so that he's holding them tightly with one hand, while leaving his other hand free. He grins at the young boy and flexes his fingers in front of Murdoc s face. Letting the little boy know what was going to happen next. Murdocs eyes widen and he clenches his jaw tightly.

"SSSSo. Yer Daddy s little boy now hey? Well lets just see about that." Hannibal snarls, then begins punching the defenseless boy in the ribs with his free hand. Murdoc cries out in a shock of pain, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Hannibal stops, and slams his forearm into the young boys throat making him gasp as he struggles for air "I fuckin' dare you ta call out again. One more peep. And yer arse ain't wakin' up t'morrow. Got me?" Hannibal hisses, then spits in the boys face. Murdoc whimpers and nods as best as he can, still gasping desperately for air, as the older boys spittle, creeps down his cheek. Hannibal chuckles and goes back to pounding the young boy. Murdoc struggling, clenching his jaw as hard as possible, trying not to cry out. Hannibal finishes and lets the young boy go. Murdoc whimpers, immediately curling up into a tiny ball, and rolling onto his side away from him. The older boy grins, his eyes almost shining in the moon light pouring in through Murdoc s dirty bedroom window.

"Try ta perform now you pathetic piece of shit. Summink tells me daddy ain't gunna be too pleased t'morrow. Whaddya think? Hmmm?" Hannibal sneers and kicking the boy viciously in the back, he turns and heads out of the room, chuckling to himself. Tears well in the young boys eyes, as he slides himself high up on the mattress, curling his body around the pillow and hugging it. Wishing with all his might it could hug him back. He presses his tear stained face into the pillow and cries himself back to sleep.

Murdoc s sixth birthday has finally arrived. the young boy walks down the stairs and straight into the kitchen. Jacob, his face buried in the paper holds out his hand as if he's holding an invisible bottle. Murdoc looks down at it and moving as if a zombie, heads for the fridge, bringing him back a beer. Hannibal sits quietly in the corner, his eye black and face swollen. Murdoc glances at him as he sits down, then sighs deeply and looks down at the surface of the table. Jacob holds out his fingers, waiting for a cigarette. Hannibal goes to get up, but is quickly waved down. Murdoc leans over and slides a cigarette from the packet, lighting it up and handing it to his father without a single sign of a cough. Jacob peers up over the top of the paper and glares at Hannibal curled up in the corner.

"You see that! Now THAT! Is a son. I dunno what the fuck yer s'pose ta be?" He snarls at the older boy and rustling his paper loudly, goes back to reading. Murdoc continues to stare at the table top. His heart heavy and his will smashed. The feeling of utter emptiness that fills him completely, is as cold as ice. He sighs quietly and slumps a little further, as if too tired to even raise his eyes from the table. His physical hunger, has been replaced with a hunger of a different kind. The young boy is starving for an ounce of something else. Something warm and comforting. Something this house could never provide. Something that could fill him completely and complete him as a human being. Jacob suddenly calls to the young boy and Murdoc looks up. Not realizing how long he'd been sitting there. Time for work. He stands and slowly follows his father from the room. Jacob puts his arm around the young boy and pulls him close. For a moment Murdoc s heart leaps and he closes his eyes, quickly sucking up the small amount of affection he is receiving. But the old man quickly lets go and ushers him through the door, Murdoc looks up at the old man needing more, but what Jacob offers in the way of parental love and affection, could never ever be enough. Murdoc feels cold again and his mood drops just a little more, as the young boy plummets into a deep depression.

That afternoon Murdoc walks back to the house behind his father. His eyes glassy, he watches the concrete path moving under his feet, unable to raise his head to even see where he is going. Moving more like a robot on automatic pilot, than a living human being. As he steps through the door, the young boy is suddenly struck in the face with a fist. Suddenly the world seems to slow down, the sights and sounds no longer quite real. He can see his father coming down on him like a raging bull, the fists and boot connecting with his body. But he feels hardly any of it, he lay there on the floor. Barely raising any kind of defense, not wanting to any more. He closes his eyes and waits for the fateful blow. The one that will kill him and end this nightmare, once and for all. Murdoc just doesn't care anymore. The beating is suddenly over, but Murdoc remains where he is. Jacob storms into the sitting room, snarling about how useless he feels Murdoc is. The old man paces furiously in the other room, calling out random names at the young boy on the floor. Murdoc can't hear him though. His ears ring loudly, a muffled sound seems to make it's way along his jaw. A strange odd sensation as if the sound has a texture, like cotton wool. The taste of blood all through his mouth. An odd feeling like he's broken inside, and can feel his vital juices dripping. He falls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, the light so bright it sparkles and flashes. The dark edges fighting for control, being pushed back by the spears of light that seem to burn like ice in his mind. Jacob slams out of the sitting room and stops dead at Murdoc s feet. Murdoc can slightly hear a muffled voice, but can't tell who is speaking. Jacob suddenly scoops the little boy up in his arms and carries him outside. The scene changes in Murdoc s eyes, but nothing is real. Murdoc is dying, but in the little boys mind, he'd never truly been alive anyway


	3. Chapter 3

Murdoc has returned home from the hospital, after having explained to the staff and police that he was beaten by a bully, and not wanting to take things any further. Thus getting his father off the hook, and putting him in an even better position than before with the old man. Unknown to the boy, in two different ways. He'd impressed his father by being able to lie so well to the cops. And his father now knew he had to watch his step with the boy. One word from Murdoc and the old man was going to jail. Now it was the old mans turn to get on Murdoc s good side. The little boy lays quietly on his bed, playing with an action man that Jacob inexplicably bought for him. He holds it high over his head, manipulating it's limbs. Wondering if the old mans mood will last a little longer this time. There is a knock on his door and Jacob opens it a little, sticking his head inside. Murdoc stares at the old mans face, not quite sure what is going on.

"Can I come in son?" Jacob asks quietly with a smile. Murdoc stares confused at the old man for a moment, not understanding why Jacob felt he had to ask permission to come in. He'd never done that before, he was usually busy screaming about it being his house, and his things, and if anyone wanted anything, then it was they that had to plead to him. He nods and slowly, with just a little pain, sits up. Jacob walks over and slowly crouches down, sitting on the end of Murdoc s mattress. "Phew! That's a long way down, ain' it?" Jacob giggles. Murdoc decides that if this was the way Jacob wanted it, then maybe he should just go with the flow for now. The young boy weakly chuckles and moves over a little, to give the old man a bit more room. Jacob points at the action man in Murdocs lap and smiles. Murdoc looks up at him and smiles back, for a moment he freezes, wondering if the old man had come to take it back.

"Yeah. That was real nice of ya dad. Cheers." Murdoc smiles, sitting the doll next to him, waiting to see what the old man will do. Jacob seems a little nervous for some reason and has done since the beating. Given he is just a child, Murdoc is completely unaware of how much power he actually has over the old man right now. Jacob clears his throat and tries to get on the young boys side. Not really liking the position he's in. If he can somehow stop Murdoc from working out he can go to the cops, like he did with Hannibal, then he can get back to pummeling the little boy happily. He smiles at the thought, and turns his attention back to the boy.

"Sooooo. You won't be goin to school till next year now. Err? Coz of yer little, ahem. Accident. Lookin' forward to it?" Jacob asks, Murdoc shrugs and wipes his nose with his sleeve. He's not to bothered either way now and maybe it could be an opportunity. He hasn't really thought about it much. Jacob smiles awkwardly at the boy, gripping the side of the mattress tightly. Murdoc studies him and for just a moment, he sees something in the old mans eyes. Something familiar. Something his mind says shouldn't be there. He tilts his head slightly thinking about it. A small trickle of sweat works it's way down the side of the old mans face. Murdoc watches it's path, he creases his forehead and wonders for a moment. Was the old man scared of him? He shakes his head and looks away again, almost laughing to himself about how silly that sounded. Jacob scared of him? Never. He looks back up at the old man, knowing that the only way to find out was to ask. And any thoughts that the old man would actually answer such a question, was ridiculous. But maybe if he prompted enough...?

"Dad?" He asks quietly. "What do you want?" His stomach tightens a little in fear, as he suddenly remembers what happened the last time he questioned his father directly like that. Jacob had dragged the boy into his room and stripped him naked, making him place his hands flat against the wall. He'd then taken an old bamboo cane that he'd bought in a second hand store, and whipped the boy all over the back, buttocks and legs, until that whole half of his body looked sunburned. Every time the boy moved in the wrong way or taken a hand off the wall, Jacob made the next five hits harder, cutting deeply into his flesh. Murdoc shudders and rubs his arm, as he feels his skin crawl almost as if it's trying to escape. Jacob snaps a harsh look at him, but immediately calms down again. This makes Murdoc even more curious than before.

"I'm checkin' on me boy. What's wrong with that?" Jacob snaps trying not to sound angry, through his clenched teeth. Murdoc pulls away a little, but continues watching the old mans eyes. Still trying to work out what it was he'd seen in them. Jacob suddenly smiles and taps the boy on the arm. "Oh yeah. one of the things you might be doin' at school is learnin' stories. Fairy stories. I have summink fer you." Jacob struggles to his feet and walks from Murdoc s bedroom. The child stares at the door, mouth agape in shock. Thinking perhaps the old man had gone insane, given this was the second time in as many days, Jacob had given him something, Murdoc smiles and lays back against the wall. At any rate, the boy had no intention of complaining about it. Right now, he felt very spoiled and hoped that whatever it was that had made the old man crackers, never stopped. His father returns with a book and struggles back down to the mattress on the floor. He hands the book to Murdoc and watches the child s reaction. Murdoc gingerly turns it over in his hands, then looks up at the old man with a smile.

"Thanks dad." The young boy squeaks, his eyes welling with tears. He shakes them off and swallows hard, opening the book and studying the pages. Carefully turning them one by one as if he was scared they'd tear under the weight of his fingers. Although Jacob had taught him a few words, mostly how to read the brand names off bottles of alcohol and beer coasters. Murdoc didn't have enough knowledge to know what the book was even about and the words on the page were more of a jumble of scribbles and lines. "I can't read." He complains softly, closing the book and feeling a little deflated. Jacob smiles and slides the book from his hand. Murdoc clenches his jaw, welling up with more tears, thinking the old man was taking it back. But Jacob moves a little closer and waves the boy to him.

"C'mere son. I'll read it to you." He grins at the boy. Murdoc s face lights up and he snuggles up next to the old man. Now he really did feel spoiled, gifts and an excuse to get close. The boy beams in pure delight. "Now. Lets read the title together, shall we? Repeat after me. Paddington goes to Hell." Murdoc does as he is told, following the old mans finger as he slides it from one word to the next. The little boy listens intently as the old man tells the story, for a moment thinking everything was finally working out well. After a moment more, it slowly begins to dawn on him, that maybe he needed to think about that, just a little while longer. The story over, the old man turns to his son. Who is now locked in a traumatized ball, under the sheet with the pillow over his head. He smiles almost evilly at the quaking boy and pats him gently on the back. Then struggles to his feet and walks to the bedroom door.

"No need to thank me son. Heh, heh. It was my pleasure. Night." Jacob grins, shutting off the light and closing the boys door. He's about to walk down the stairs when suddenly he hears a noise from Hannibal s room. He stops and thinks a moment, then decides that he'd better make sure Hannibal knows he meant what he'd said to him, in the hospital waiting room. He makes his way back to Hannibal s room and slams open the door. Hannibal leaps down under the covers, trying to hide what he was doing. Jacob freezes for a moment, then waves it off when it dawns on him that he'd just caught Hannibal masturbating. "Yer disgustin'! Now! I'm gunna say this one more time. If I find you've touched him...." He points towards Murdoc s room. Hannibal rolls his eyes and pulls his hands out from under the sheets.

"Yeah I know. You'll make me suffer a worse fate than death. I know!" Hannibal snarls back. "Stoopid princess Murdoc. Bah!" The older boy rolls over onto his side grumbling, as Jacob makes his way out of the room and down stairs. He'd lost his job yesterday. Not that it really bothered him much, he hated working anyway. He wanders into the sitting room and flops down in the chair, staring at the wall. He still had money coming in from the scams that Hannibal had on the go at school, combined with Murdoc s little pub shows. He had just managed to scrape things together to keep the bills paid before, so he was sure he could do it now as well. So he didn't really care either way. He stands up and shuts off the light. Stretching and yawning, the old man heads upstairs to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

A few weeks later. Murdoc is in the kitchen with his dad, slowly reading the racing guide out to him, as Jacob leans back on the chair smoking a cigarette. The old man had decided to finally teach him, given he was going to school in the next few months, and he certainly didn't want any unwelcome attention from the school, questioning why the seven year old boy couldn't read? Murdoc has taken to it almost passionately, and this has left the old man feeling a little astonished at how well he's been doing. He butts out the cigarette and looks down at the struggling boy sitting by him on the floor. Murdoc looks up and points to a word he'd been trying to work out. Jacob turns his head a little and sighs, shaking it slowly.

"Sound it out. I already told ya. Pillock." Jacob snarls, before looking up at the ceiling again with his eyes closed. Murdoc sighs heavily in frustration and tries again. He really wants to show his dad he can do it, but some of the words have been rather difficult for him to work out. But not wanting to be beaten by something, that in his eyes seems to be so pathetically ridiculous. He grits his teeth and concentrates just a bit harder. Looking hard at the word, he sounds it out, pointing to each part of it in turn.

"Fid, dlers. Dee, li, gah, ht? Deeli, gah, ht? What sort of a fucked up word is that!?" Murdoc snaps, sitting back and folding his arms in anger. More angry with himself than the word really, he knows he can do it. In fact, Murdoc is quite convinced of it. He'd been going over a few things in his mind lately and had come to the conclusion, that if he could survive this house. Survive his daily beatings from his dad. Survive his occasional nightly beatings from Hannibal. Then nothing really could stop him. All he honestly needed was somewhere to start, give him that and he'd happily show you what he was capable of. Jacob opens his eyes slowly and turns his head again to face him. Jacob had also noticed something in the boy, something different about the way Murdoc looked at you. A strange shine in his eye, that seemed to come from some place deep inside him. But the old man wasn't able to really put his finger on it as yet.

"Yer 'GH' is wrong. It's that pretend one wot I explained to you. Pretend it ain' there and try again." He sighs and turns his face back to the ceiling again, rocking back and forth on the back legs of his chair. Murdoc s determination had been getting a lot of attention from his dad. Jacob didn't need anyone to explain that to him. He could see that Murdoc was going to go far in life. How far and in what direction? Who could say? But even at this young age, the boy had drive. Jacob smiles proudly to himself, but quickly hides it with a cough. Imagining how much money he could make, with Murdoc permanently at his side. Murdoc sighs and rolls his eyes, then sits forwards and tries again. More determined than ever to get through this. He takes a deep breath and begins again.

"Fiddlers... oh right. Heh, heh. Fiddlers, Dee, li, t. deelit... Ohhhhh. Delight! Fiddlers Delight!" Murdoc beams, smiling at his dad. Jacob turns back and smiles quickly, then waves the back of his hand at him, to keep going. "Odds at 20-1. Pre, cah, i, oh, us. Pup. Err? Huh? Waaaait. C.I.O.U? Pre, Shu, s? Precious! Pup! Odds 10-1." Hannibal walks in and looks at Murdoc sitting on the floor. The young boy looks up at him and slits his eyes. Hannibal stops in his tracks and stares hard at the boy, slitting his eyes back and clenching his fists, as if about to attack. Murdoc drops his head a little, never taking his gaze from the older boys eyes. He isn't as afraid of his big brother any more, Hannibal can still hurt him, true. But the young boy isn't as intimidated by him as he once was. Murdoc had worked something out. One morning while they were at breakfast, Hannibal had called Murdoc a name and in frustration, Murdoc had snapped back. Hannibal had been so shocked by the remark, he wasn't able to come up with a come-back. And had sat there opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Murdoc had the gift of gab. Once he'd worked out Hannibal s weakness, the older boy was almost a push over.

"Ha! Teachin' him how to read is a waste of time?" Hannibal sneers, not willing to back down from the tiresome little boy. Murdoc sneers back and thinks a little. Even though Murdoc knows he can stop Hannibal here, it doesn't take a genius to work out that he'll pay for it much later. Not that he minded, after all. He'd been hit so many times before and after a few days, the bruises were all but gone. But if he said something to Hannibal, even weeks after. The mere suggestion of what had been said, seemed to hurt the older boy even more than fists ever could. Murdoc s weapon was more powerful and the little boy knew it. He also knew that Hannibal knew it to and that had sent the young boys mind into a spin. Hitting someone was easy, apes did it all the time. It took intelligence to be able to hurt someone with words. That meant he was so much smarter than his ape of a brother. Since this discovery, his confidence had been improving in leaps and bounds.

"Oh I dunno. You haven't done so bad since the Monkey Keeper let you out the cage and taught you. So I rrrreackon if it's that easy you can do it. I should be able to piss it in." Murdoc retorts with a grin. Jacob opens his eyes and slowly begins to chuckle. He turns and faces Hannibal who is now standing there seething at the young boy. Hannibal opens his mouth and goes to say something, but closes it again without a word. Unable to figure out what to say to that. He pulls his fist back threatening to hit the little boy. But Murdoc sits back and folds his arms, looking at him as if bored. This makes Hannibal even angrier. But inside, he knows that right now, he's beaten, and anything he comes up with now is a waste of time. Murdoc will just come back with something else.

"Heh, heh. He's got you there. That was actually funny." The old man smiles and chuckles quietly, closing his eyes again. Hannibal snaps a look at his dad and grinds his teeth, then snaps a look back at Murdoc who feigns a yawn. He points at Murdoc and mouths the threat that he'll get him later. But Murdoc waves it off and goes back to practicing his reading. Hannibal storms from the room and slams his way out of the house. Murdoc chuckles quietly and reads down to the bottom of the page. He looks up at his dad, who pats him on the arm and says he can go now. Murdoc gets up and puts the paper down on the table and walks from the kitchen, heading upstairs to his room. He closes the door and walks over to his bed, sliding a packet of cigarettes from under his pillow. He wanders over to his window and opens it, sitting on the sill he lights up and stares out over the back garden. From where he is, he can see into the garden of the next door neighbor. A few times he had seen her hanging her washing or watering her garden, in a very scanty dressing gown. Although he was young, Murdoc found it very exciting to stand there and watch her. But it seemed today no one was home. He draws on his cigarette and watches the clouds roll by. Wondering what school will really be like. Maybe he'll make a few friends?

Murdoc wakes early and literally rolls out of bed. With his mattress on the floor, he can actually do that. He scrambles out of the sheet and slides on his shirt. It's a little cold this morning, but he opens his window and lights up a cigarette anyway. The chill wind catches him unawares and suddenly his need to urinate violently rises. Unable to wait, he looks out the window carefully and undoes his fly, peeing on the kitchen roof directly below him. He stops and thinks about it a moment, shrugging, wondering why he hadn't thought about doing this before. He giggles to himself and finished tucks himself back in. Finishing the cigarette quickly, he butts it out and makes his way down stairs, hiding the butt carefully in his hand. Although his dad wouldn't care if he did start smoking. He wanted to choose the time and place to do it. He makes his way into the kitchen, secretly dumping the butt into the ashtray by the sink, pretending to get a glass of water. Then grabbing a beer from the fridge, walks back to the table, placing it in his fathers waiting hand.

"Mornin'." He says simply, waiting to see if he can have breakfast. Jacob looks up from the paper and waves the boy into the kitchen. Murdoc gets back up and makes himself some toast. Hannibal comes down and hands his dad some money, then wanders into the kitchen himself. He tries to elbow Murdoc out of the way, as the young boy turns round with his toast. But Murdoc is a bit too quick and elbows him in the balls hard. "Oh sorry 'bout that. Didn't see you there. But then, it is such a small thing. Ain' it?" He grins, biting off a large piece of toast and chewing it loudly. Hannibal leans heavily on the sink, gripping his genitals tightly and swearing under his breath. He was going to school today and curiosity had put him in rather a good mood. His reading had improved quite a bit and because his dad had been teaching him. Not to mention leaving books beside the boys bed for him to read at night. Fairy stories of a kind. Just not the kind any normal child would of grown up with. His father had taken to re-writing them. Changing the content enough to turn a rather nice story, into a horrible tale of death, destruction, and mayhem. With of course, the occasional stop over at a brothel. He'd also been teaching the boy finances since he was four, so mathematics were certainly not going to be a problem for him. Money had been something that seemed to run the ebb and flow of life in the household. Not having any to give to the old man, often resulted in having to go hungry. So money tended to be foremost in Murdocs mind. Getting some. More than some, a lot. It was like money was food, and the little boy had grown hungry for it. The more he could get it seemed, the more satisfied he would be. But at least for the moment everything was okay. Not perfect, but then what was perfect? Murdoc certainly had no real idea. But then, nothing was going to make this day a bad one. Not even Hannibal.

Soon it was time to go, and the little family walk out of the front door. Jacob, now a bit flush because of the money he'd gotten from Hannibal, has decided to spend some time down the bookies and maybe head down the pub later. They part company at the gate, Hannibal walking ahead, not really wanting to be near his little brother. Not that Murdoc minded. Because of his late start, he wasn't going to the same school as Hannibal anymore. So that meant he wouldn't have to face the older boy and his friends every day. This makes Murdoc smile, as he follows his brother to the stop. They both wait quietly for the bus, not really looking at one another. Almost giving the impression they weren't even related to one another. . Murdoc had memorized where he needed to go, knowing that Hannibal had no intention of helping him. And he was busy going through the route in his head. The bus arrives and Hannibal immediately heads up stairs. Murdoc shrugs and sits down on a seat near the door. He watches as the scenery flies by concentrating carefully on the route. The bus stops at Hannibal s school and the older boy walks by him, punching Murdoc hard in the arm on the way out. Murdoc sighs and makes a face at him in the window. He sees some girls point and laugh at Hannibal as the bus moves off again, which makes the young boy feel much better. Finally the bus stops at Murdoc s school and he climbs down the steps, exiting the bus. Looking around, he remembers that he was told to go straight to the office when he arrived. But where was that? He stops a boy who is walking by and asks him, the boy looks him up and down, then vaguely points out a direction, but isn't really all that helpful. Murdoc sighs and wanders off. Hoping to find it before class was meant to begin.

He finally finds the office, and is shown to his class room. Sitting down in his seat, he looks around the room at all the other students. By the time lunch time comes around, Murdoc has changed his mind completely. School is not fun. Sitting by himself in the yard, he is approached by a boy from his class. They talk for a while, and soon become friends. This makes things a little better. By the end of the day, Murdoc isn't too sure if he likes it or not. He made a friend, which made things a little easier. He decides perhaps it's too early to tell. He'll give it a week to really make up his mind. The bus arrives and he climbs aboard. Watching the scenery glide by again, it stops outside Hannibal s school. Hannibal climbs on and immediately goes upstairs. Murdoc remembers the girls laughing at him that morning, and giggles to himself. Finally home again the two boys make their way home.

"Who were those girls that laughed atcha?" Murdoc calls out to Hannibal walking far ahead of him. The older boy looks around and sneers, then turns back and keeps on walking. "Oh. Yer Keepers? Sorry. Didn't know." Murdoc chuckles to himself as Hannibal flips him off. He thinks quietly to himself as he walks through the front door. Today, was a good day after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Murdoc arrives home from school, tired and annoyed. He drops his bag by the door and makes his way to the stairs. He has just started climbing his way up, thinking that the sooner he can climb into bed and get to sleep, the sooner this horrible day will end. When Jacob pops his head from the sitting room and whistles at him. Murdoc looks down and sees him, creasing his forehead, with a slightly angry scowl crossing his face. The old man crooks his finger at the boy, indicating for him to follow him into the sitting room. Murdoc sighs and hunches his shoulders in annoyance, then climbs back down the stairs again. He makes his way into the sitting room, in time to see the old man flop heavily into a chair. Jacob leans down next to it and picks up a newspaper, holding it out to the boy and pointing out an article he wishes Murdoc to read.

"See that? I entered you. I rrreckon yer good enough to win." The old man says with a mischievous grin. He flops back in his chair puffing away at his cigarette, watching the young boys reaction. Murdoc furrows his brow and reads the article, his eyes widen as he gets to the part where it talks about the contest, his stomach seems to shrink to the size of a pea. On his own without any competition, was one thing. This was something different altogether. For one thing, it was going to be in front of a whole new crowd, then there was other contestants. To be judged against others? Judges were surely not going to let mistakes go by, as easily as the punters down the pubs he usually performed at. He reads on and gets to the part where it discusses the possibility of being able to perform on television as well. As if standing in front of a bunch of drunks wasn't bad enough. Then you could go on to humiliate yourself on national television, in front of possibly thousands. Wonderful. What a brilliant idea? What if the kids at school saw him? He freezes to the spot and begins to feel sick.

"Got the perfect thing to." The old man reaches beside his chair again and picks up a bag. He tosses it at the boy with a wink. Murdoc catches it and looks from the bag to the old man, then opens it and looks inside. The young boy pulls out a costume. He snaps a look of pure horror over to his father, as the blood drains from his face. Dropping the bag and holding the costume up to himself, he slowly shakes his head in disbelief. The old man couldn't possibly be serious. He looks at Jacob again, but the smile on the old mans face confirms it. He is serious. Very serious. Murdoc slumps his shoulders and stares at him , for a moment unable to move or say anything.

The boy angrily makes his way up the stairs, to try the ridiculous outfit on for his dad. He still doesn't want to believe Jacob is serious. A few moments later, he comes back down again. Fully dressed and feeling foolish. He stares at the front door and hopes with all his might Hannibal doesn't walk in right now, and catch him dressed like this. Fake nose, Lederhosen and a feathered hat. Pinocchio! That would be a humiliation, he could hardly bare to think about. Let alone have it happen. He reaches the bottom step and practically leaps into the sitting room. Wanting to show his dad, then go upstairs and get out of it. Before the older boy comes home and catches him.

"I look a total plonker!" Murdoc wails to his father. Jacob steps slowly round him, taking it all in. He waves off the boys obvious distress. He'd already paid the entry fee anyway, not to mention bought the costume. So there was no way he was going to let the boy back out now. He leans down and picks up the paper again, pointing out the part where it mentions how much you could win.

"Two pounds fifty! If you do it right? That's what we'll be bringin' home. Now here's the song and music. " He snarls, shoving the lyric sheet and a small tape deck into the young boys arms. "Go practice! I'm off to the pub." Jacob stands up and walks from the room. Murdoc reads the name of the song to himself, off the top of the page that Jacob had shoved into his hands. 'I've got no strings.' He looks up at the back of his fathers head, as he follows the old man from the room mortified. 'Wanna bet?' The young boy thinks sharply. Murdoc climbs the stairs as Jacob stands by the front door. The old man slides on his jacket then, checks his pockets for his keys. Running a hand through his greasy hair Before reaching out for the door handle. Murdoc stops half way up the stairs and turns back to his father for one last attempt at changing the old mans mind. Even though the boy is positive it's a complete waste of time already.

"But...?" Just at that moment, the door opens and Hannibal walks through. Jacob presses past him and walks out of the house, closing the door again behind him. Hannibal looks up the stairs and spots the boy, who turns and charges the rest of the way up the stairs to get away. The older boy instantly breaks out in a gale of laughter, running after Murdoc to catch him for a closer look. Murdoc dashes into his room, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He just manages to slide in and slam the door behind him. Straight into Hannibal s shoulder, as the older boy rams into it to keep it from closing all the way. They fight each other through the gap in the door. Hannibal shoving to open it, and Murdoc shoving back to close it.

"Awww. C'mon! You look real pretty. Just like that bird with the goats, in that story. What was her name again?" Hannibal calls out to him, grabbing hold of the edge of the door and pressing his face to the gap. Murdoc slaps out at his brothers face, and presses hard against the door again, nearly trapping the older boys fingers. Tears roll down Murdoc cheeks and he grits his teeth hard, trying to push them back. His confidence is once again at zero. Hannibal manages to get the door open enough to shave his arm through and swipe at the boy. Murdoc ducks and slams his weight against the door hard, slamming it against the older boys arm. Hannibal cries out in pain, pulling his arm out again and nursing it. Then banging on the door again, even more determined than before.

"Fuck off! I don't need no fashion tips from you. It weren't my idea! It was his!" Murdoc calls back, hitting Hannibal s fingers hard again, as they appear around the edge of the door. It finally slams shut as Hannibal pulls back to nurse his fingers. Murdoc immediately grabs the plank of wood he'd begun to use, to jam against the door. A make shift lock to prevent Hannibal s nightly visits. Hannibal bangs up against the door hard, but now with the wood firmly jammed against it, it doesn't even budge. Murdoc steps back and tears off the costume, throwing it angrily into the corner. Hannibal bangs and knocks at the door, jiggling the handle and still trying in vain to get in.

"Heedie? Haydee? Heidi? Some German sounding name? C'mon! I'm sure you know it? Who you meant to be then? You can tell me." The older boy laughs. Murdoc storms over to his bed and belly flops onto it. Snatching up his pillow and pulling it hard down over his head. Blocking out the sound of Hannibal, still banging on the door. Murdoc whimpers and cries, wishing he could wake up and find this has all been a terrible nightmare. The day was already bad enough. A girl at school has teased him, saying he smelled funny. Following him around all day, throwing out suggestions as to what it might of been he'd stepped in. Now this. Eventually Hannibal gives up and leaves the boy alone, deciding instead to go to his room and listen to his records. Murdoc lifts the pillow and strains to listen. But the day has been far too taxing on the boy, and slowly his body gives in to merciful sleep.

Murdoc spends the next few weeks, practicing the stupid Pinocchio song for the competition. He stares at the costume in it's bag in the corner and shakes his head. Why was his father so determined to make a fool of him? Did his dad hate him that much? He feels tears stinging the corners of his eyes again and wipes at them angrily with his sleeve. He hated his Father for doing this to him. It was bad enough that he had to sing down the pub for booze money. That was humiliating enough. This was a torture of a different kind, and he just couldn't understand why he was forced to do it. He sighs and starts the song from the top. Best to get it right on the night. Otherwise a beating will follow. That was certain. His Dad accepted nothing less than perfection from him. Sometimes if he was in a good mood he'd let the tiniest of errors slip by. But that was rare. He wouldn't do it so well as to get on telly though. That was certain.

The night of the concert has arrived and Murdoc stands just off stage, petrified with his stomach in knots. A bead of sweat trickles down his face and the words of the song seem to be slowly fading from his mind. He wipes his hands down the front of his Lederhosen, and hopes that the people in the audience, are far to drunk to even make out he's wearing the ridiculous costume. A small voice in the back of his mind tells him, that it would probably be the one thing they'll remember quite clearly. His throat tightens and he feels like throwing up. He looks at his father standing just a few feet behind him, Guarding any exit the boy he feels may try to take. The old man rubs his hands together greedily, mentally already spending the prize money. Murdoc turns his attention back to the stage in front of him, as the drunken audience, boo yet another contestant off the stage. This just makes the boy even more nervous, as that contestant was kind of good. He swallows hard and turns back to his father, he knows there is no way the old man will let him back down. But maybe...? Suddenly the announcer introduces him. Murdoc snaps his face back towards the stage and freezes in panic.

Jacob stands there waiting for the boy to move out onto the stage, but Murdoc doesn't move. The old man snarls and storms up behind him, as the audience becomes restless. They shuffle their feet and cough, waiting for the act to appear on stage. The old man kicks Murdoc in the buttocks sharply, making the boy stumble forwards. He lands hard on his knees on the stage floor, turning his head and staring up at the huge spotlight. Slowly the young boy climbs to his feet, rubbing his knees as the bright light dazzles him. He can hear the crowd shuffling waiting for him to begin, but still he turns back to his dad now right at the edge of the stage, glaring angrily at the young boy.

"Sing you little sod, or I'll smash yer teeth in!" Jacob hisses sharply through clenched teeth. He gives the old man a pleading look, hoping to somehow look pathetic enough to touch Jacobs cold heart, and have the old man come and save him from this humiliation. But the look only receives a shaking fist. The boy sighs and turns back to the audience. The spotlight blinds him again, and the sound of someone coughing, cuts through the utter silence.

"C'mon! Get on with it!" A voice calls from the back of the room. Murdoc takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and begins to sing. Deep in his mind a tiny flame begins to burn. Quietly at first. But with every painful passing second, it burns brighter and brighter. Building in size and strength until finally it explodes and roars like an angry volcano. Boiling and bubbling with Vulcan fury. The boy stares hard out to the audience, vowing never again to allow this to happen. Never again to allow himself to be humiliated in this way. Never will he climb onto a stage under someone else s direction. One day he would get his revenge on these people. Better yet, the whole world. He'd make them all pay. Every last one of them.

Murdoc wakes early the next morning, the events from the night before still burning clearly in his mind. He did win the competition. But there didn't seem to be any interest in putting him on television. That was probably the only thing about the night that pleased the young boy. Of course that part resulted in a beating. But because he did win the prize money, Jacob only bruised a few of the boys ribs and blackened his eye. As far as Murdoc was concerned, he'd gotten off pretty lightly. He shrugs it off and rolls out of the bed, grabbing a cigarette on the way past. He stands up, undoing his fly and opens the window. Straight away he sees the lady from next door, moving about in her garden. He stands there at his window urinating, watching her in her scanty dressing gown. His young body tingles with excitement, as he watches her bend over and the thin material ride up the back of her legs. Murdoc breathes slowly, no longer urinating. His need has now changed. He watches her silently from the window, his fingers playing gently up and down his penis. As he quietly imagines a scene playing out in his head. Him and her together in her garden. Their sweaty naked bodies sliding against one another, as his excitement grows to boiling. After a few moments, his body shudders with release, and he bites his lip hard. Breathing a little heavily, he tucks himself away again, and wipes a bead of sweat from his cheek.

Picking up his cigarette, he lights it, drawing in slowly and letting the smoke flow out again with a relaxed sigh. He thinks about his little fantasy and wonders if that really is what sex would be like. He'd actually caught Hannibal do it many times, studying the older boys methods. Once he'd crept into his fathers room and found the old mans porn stash. He'd laid under Jacobs bed and flipped through the pages. That's when Jacob had walked in and laid down on the bed, not realizing Murdoc was under it. He'd nearly caught him as he reached under the bed, looking for one of the magazines. Murdoc slid a little out of the way, as the old mans hand moved closer and closer to him. The boy slid one over and Jacob had snatched it up. A few moments later, the boy had heard the old man undo his fly. Murdoc lay there, trapped under his fathers bed. Listening to the old man wanking. Murdoc shakes the thought from his head and shudders. Replacing it with the image of the next door neighbors beautiful naked body again. He smiles contentedly and leans heavily against the window ledge. Then makes the decision that if that is indeed what sex was like. The he was going to do it, the first opportunity he gets. his mind turns back to the concert as he ashes his cigarette out the window. What would Jacob know about real entertainment?

"Pincchio!? Rubbish. Who really wants that bollocky piece of garbage?" The boy snaps to himself, drawing sharply on his cigarette. He studies his nails for a moment, thinking. "I rrreckon if I wanted. I could come up with the best fuckin' act, this world has ever seen." He smiles at the thought and finishes the cigarette, tossing the butt out the window. He walks back over to his bed and picks up his shirt, deciding that one day, that is exactly what he is going to do. Create the best act in the world and show all those talentless tossers out there, what the word talented really means. He slides on his shirt and takes the plank of wood from the door, unlocking it. Then quietly heads downstairs. Knowing Hannibal is waiting for him. But no longer interested enough, to actually care.


	5. Chapter 5

Murdoc is standing by the lunchroom door. Watching the lunch ladies move like busy ants around the room, preparing meals for the students. He sees his favorite lunch lady Doris, and smiles to himself. Doris had taken quite a shine to the skinny young boy with funny teeth and sharp nails. He made her laugh with his persistent duck noises and jokes. Of course not everybody found that part of him funny at all. Mostly his teachers, who found that his behavior tended to distract the other students. His class mates didn't mind though. It made the day seem less dull as far as they were concerned. He wasn't the most popular kid in the class, he had his small gaggle of friends and that made school much more bearable to the boy. He looks down at the side of his shoe and sighs softly. Doris looks over at the door and smiles at him, wiping her hands on her pinafore.

"Allo luv. How long you been standin' there?" She grins walking over to one of the counters in the small room. She reaches up to a cabinet and pulls down a plate of food she had specially prepared for the boy. Murdocs eyes light up at it, and he licks his lips. Apart from the usual plate all the other students got, Doris liked to treat Murdoc. Giving him small cakes and chocolate biscuits, that were meant for the teachers only. She puts the plate down at a small table at the back of the room, and invites him to sit. Murdoc makes his way from the door and sits in the chair she pulled out for him, looking at the food piled high on the plate.

"Not long. Tah." He smiles and picking up a fork, starts hungrily wolfing down the meal. Doris stands watching him for a while, before returning to her duties. The fifty year old woman had often found herself talking to Murdoc in a completely different way to the other students. For one thing, he didn't treat her like the others did. He actually talked to her, like she was a real person. The other students tended to give her this look like she was beneath them or something. That bothered her a great deal. It wasn't that they were impolite. Certainly they were polite. But the whole time they stood in front of her, it felt wrong. Automated. Forced. Fake smiles and even faker thank yous. Handed out like they were those cheap plastic toys people get from Christmas crackers. As if she had nothing better in her life to look forward to, than serving these snotty nosed ungrateful kids. She could of done something better with her life. She just never got enough encouragement or education to take the next step. At least this job paid the bills. Being treated like a faceless lackey was a bonus. She sighs deeply and serves another student. Right on cue the child gives her the forced smile and thank you. She smiles back with half as much effort, then turns around to look at her favorite young man. Now finished his lunch and leaning back on his chair, patting his full stomach and picking his teeth with one of those long talons of his. She smiles at him and walks over to take his plate.

"Ya look like you enjoyed that." She chuckles. Murdoc burps and smiles back, showing rows of shark-like teeth. He nods and drops the chair back on all four legs, still sucking at his teeth. He pats his full stomach again and stretches his arms high above his head, cracking his spine. Dropping them down to his shoulders and stretching out his legs, he slumps down in the chair a little, interlacing his fingers behind his head. Now with his stomach filled to almost bursting, the young boy feels comfortable and content. Now it was time to grease the wheels a little and keep the middle aged woman on side. He looks back up to her and gives he a warm smile.

"Oh yeah. That was really good. Hows yer day been? Done anythin' interestin'?" He asks. He isn't really interested, but Murdoc knows a good deal when it presents itself and keeping the old woman on his good side was paying dividends. Something his dad had taught him. Never let a good opportunity go to waste. Especially if you're the only one who can see it. He was doing quite well, even if no one else realized it. Doris seemed determined to put some weight on the boy, so she tended to pile the food high on his plate. Given that it was the only meal Murdoc sometimes had. Best to keep the woman happy. She smiles at him warmly and sits down, leaving the other ladies to serve for a while and starts telling him about her day. Murdoc smiles warmly and zones out, paying only just enough attention to respond with a nod or a smile in all the right places. Doris reaches out every now and then to pat Murdoc s hand. This makes him flinch a little inside, being touched by someone in this affectionate manner felt alien to the boy. But not wanting to offend her, Murdoc smiles and leaves the hand on the table. She seemed to like touching him and often put a hand on his shoulder, arm or leg. She'd once patted him on the behind which made him feel a bit strange. But he'd shrugged it off, thinking it was just one of those things. Murdoc begins to feel thirsty and glances a little at the cupboard where the hot chocolate he knows is kept, clearing his throat. Doris looks up at him and stands up, making her way over to the cupboard.

"Sounds like ya have a bit of a tickle there luv. Lemme get ya a drink." She takes down a mug from the cupboard and makes him a hot chocolate, still talking about her day. Murdoc raises an eyebrow and rolls his eyes in boredom. Quickly smiling sweetly at her as she turns back to him. She sits down again and begins telling him about her sister, as Murdoc blows on the hot liquid. Mumbling an affirmation when she asks if he remembers the one she is talking about. Then Doris goes on, telling him about a cake she made for her sisters birthday. This suddenly sparks the young boys interest and for the first time since sitting down, he really begins to listen. Murdoc had never had a birthday cake, let alone a birthday. Listening to the woman describe what one was really like made his eyes light up inside. He smiles in interest and asks about the cake. What sort of cake? Would it have icing? And candles? It had to have candles. Just like the ones he'd seen in magazines. His mouth begins to water again, as Doris describes it to him in detail. He sits forwards and forgets about his drink for the moment as this was far more interesting. 'I wonder if she'd make me one?' The boy wonders to himself.

"That sounds great. I'm sure she'd like it. Umm? Didja know it's gunna be my birthday soon?" Murdoc hints, picking up his drink again and taking the smallest sip. Never taking his eyes from hers for a minute. She shakes her head and wipes the table in front of him. Murdoc wonders for a moment if perhaps he'd pushed her a little too hard, too soon then. Maybe he should of waited a few days before pushing her this way. He looks down into the mug and watches the brown liquid moving around inside, thinking of a way to pull back from this moment.

"No I didn't luv. You'll be....? How old again?" She smiles and stands up, smoothing down his hair as she makes her way to the sink to wet down the cleaning cloth. Murdoc flinches again, but hides it with a small cough. She was still being affectionate, so obviously she wasn't bothered. He breathes a small sigh of relief into his cup, then turns slightly in the chair to face her, putting the mug back down on the table. He watches as Doris begins the routine cleaning and quickly looks up to the wall clock. Almost time to go back to class, so if he was going to do this, he'd better do it now and smooth things over before he had to go.

"Eight. You know...? I've never had a cake. Me dad can't... err? Afford stuff like that." He makes sure she's looking at him, before giving her the most soulful look he can muster. He knows she can't resist him when he does that. She looks back at him sympathetically and walks over, crouching down in front of him and placing her hands on his knees. Murdoc drops his head and pouts his lip a little, putting as much sugary sweetness into the look as he can stomach. The boy is glad he can't see himself right now. He's sure if he could he'd make himself sick. Sometimes he's shocked with how easily a look like that can get him almost anything he wants. Pity it doesn't seem to work on his dad. But then this look Murdoc tends to reserve for women as they seem to be the only ones who ever really fall for it.

"Weeeell." She drawls, taking his chin in her hand and tipping his face down to her. "We can't have that now, can we?" She smiles and slides her other hand a little way up his thigh towards his crotch, squeezing it a little. Murdoc feels a small thrill of arousal pass through him and looks down at the hand. Trying to work out why the woman had just done that. For a moment he wonders if it was an accident, but his mind starts to go through the many times she'd done things that aroused him. He looks quickly up to see if there is a hint of affirmation in her face. But Doris lets go and stands up quickly again, going back to her duties. Murdoc shrugs it off. He didn't care, he'd gotten his wish. Doris was going to make him his first birthday cake.

The day before Murdoc s birthday. Murdoc walks slowly to the principals office. Not particularly concerned with getting there anytime soon. He knew what was going to happen, it was now routine to him. So routine, the office staff could almost set their watches by him. Same time every week. Murdoc was sent from class for annoying certain teachers with his silly noises and answering questions in various adopted accents. This time it was history class. He'd stood up and given the teacher a Nazi salute and shouted, "Heil Miss. Und Ja!" This of course had resulted in the entire class room exploding in a fit of giggles. It had taken the teacher quite some time to calm the students down enough for Murdoc to her her send him from the room and go directly to the principals office. Murdoc complied, stopping at the door to bow and blow the class kisses before leaving. This had made the students laugh even harder. Murdoc knew he wasn't the most popular, there were older students that teased him. But he knew their days were numbered and counted down the months till the end of year when they left to go into Secondary school. Soon he'd be in their place. Older and bigger than the little kids. So he never let them know they'd hurt him. He rounds a corner and heads down the hall, stopping occasionally to look at the art on the walls. He is just about to pass a store room, when he hears a noise and turns round. Doris is standing there with the store room door open, shushing and waving him in. He looks at her quizzically, but shrug and follows her. She pushes him in and shuts the door behind him, locking the door.

"'Appy Birthday luv." She smiles and shows him the cake she made. The young boy looks at the cake sitting there on a small plate in her hand. His eyes widen and shine with glee at the sight. It's not a very big cake, but then the boy wasn't expecting it would be. It was a cake and that all that really mattered to him. A chocolate cake, with icing and a single candle. He licks his lips and steps forwards, admiring the sight and trying to hold back and unexpected flood of happy tears. He steps forwards, lifting his hand and reaching out to touch it, almost as if expecting it to disappear and this whole thing would turn out to be a dream. Suddenly Murdoc remembers what the date is, he stops and looks up at her, not quite sure how to put it.

"Thanks. But it ain' me birthday yet. That's tomorrow." Doris puts the cake down on a make shift table in front of him and walks around to stand behind him, putting her hand on his shoulders and pushing him down onto a chair. Murdoc complies, looking behind him nervously, not quite sure what she is doing. His defenses prickle inside him, the boy had learned to never let anyone walk behind him or too far out of sight. Things like that tended to result in him getting hurt at home He stops himself, trying to calm his breathing. Reminding himself that he was not home right now and Doris had never hurt him before. So surely she wouldn't hurt him now.

"I know luv. But I won't be here tomorrow, so I'm doin' this for ya today." She sighs into his ear, sliding her hands down to the boys small waist. Murdoc furrows his brow nervously, still not sure what the woman is doing. "Make a wish and blow out your candle. " She whispers. Murdoc does as he's told and the woman slides her hand down the front of his shorts, taking his penis in her hand and squeezing it gently. Murdoc jumps in shock, but the woman holds him down and licks his ear.

"Don't be scared luv. It's yer present." She purrs and continues massaging his quickly hardening bulge. For a moment he feels like running, but slowly the sensations work through his body and he starts to remember his fantasy. That makes him begin to pay attention. He closes his eyes and slows his breathing, his arousal growing until finally he's ready. Doris was going to fulfill his wildest wish and he knew exactly how it would happen, he'd dreamed about it so often, he knew every movement off by heart. He leans his head back and slumps back in the chair, relaxing into the womans touch. It wasn't what he'd wished when he'd blown out his candle. But right now, that didn't matter at all to him. Not one little bit.

A few moments later the store room door opens and a very confused Murdoc is shoved out of the room, the door closing and locking quickly behind him. Stunned, the boy stands in silence, trying to work out what just happened. He looks back at the store room door and then back up both ends of the hallway, before he finally begins to move off. For a moment heading back towards his class room, before he remembers he was suppose to be going to the principals office and walking back. He passes the store room again and looks back at the door. He realizes he's just lost his virginity, but what just happened to him, was nothing like he'd imagined. It was rushed. More a fumble in the dark, than anything you could call pleasurable. It was over almost before it'd begun. He stops walking and looks back again. It was awful, embarrassing. Why did she do it that way? It could of been better. Why didn't she take her time? He'd said he was going to come, she seemed to rush him into it. She'd ruined it. That was his first time? That was his much dreamed of experience? That was the thing he'd remember for the rest of his life? An embarrassing grope in the dark? All for the price of a small chocolate cake. That was his birthday present? He drops his head as his anger grows and steadily marches to the principals office. Furious with her and himself. He slams his way into the office, startling the principal and making the bald little man jump in his high backed chair. Then slamming the door behind him, as if trying to close the door on the whole horrible experience. As far as he was now concerned, nothing could make this day any worse.


	6. Chapter 6

The days just seemed to drag on endlessly for Murdoc now. From the moment he stepped from the front door, to the moment he walked in the front gate at school, his anger would bubble away. By the time he reached his class room, and Mr Gravadlax his form teacher, had called out the roll, Murdocs temper had peaked. And was ready to erupt on the next younger person who crossed paths with him. He'd started drinking much more frequently now. Stealing Whiskey from his father and taking a couple of quick shots before beginning the day. Many of the teachers had discussed the fact that the boy smelled like a brewery, but had never done or said anything about it. He managed to slide his way through the lessons somehow. Often he would take in just enough to pass the essays, but not enough to give him any real credit. As far as the teachers were concerned, so long as his grades were good enough to get him out of their class and into the next. Why bother? They were convinced he was probably going to end up either spending his day living under bridges or in jail. And from what they had seen of his work so far, they didn't feel there was enough potential to warrant them spending any great deal of time trying to sort him out. Best to leave him to it and move on to the next student. Better luck next time. Murdoc s newest problem was a boy named Tony Chopper.

Tony was your standard, garden variety bully. All fists, no brains. He wasn't particularly attractive, but then he wasn't ugly either. Large for his age, chunky in build. With a sloping forehead and mono-brow, which always made the boy look either angry or slow of mind. Somehow Murdoc had managed to spend his first few years at school under the boys radar. Until of course the day Murdoc had started to get attention from the other students. His ability to get everyone around him to agree, no matter how strange or odd it was, ie; the Murdoc Niccals way of life and how to see things, infuriated Tony. So the large boy decided to make Murdoc s life from that moment on, a pure misery. He'd started simply by calling the boy first one being 'Nerdoc' which had amused him quite a bit. But it had only resulted in getting the boy to look around at him, or occassionally raising an eyebrow. But the more Tony called him that, the quieter Murdoc would get. The next day it was 'Reject'. Now he was really beginning to get Murdoc s attention. This pleased Tony quite a bit. Murdoc was listening, and that was all the bully needed. From that moment on, he knew he could get to the boy. And every day, Tony would come to school with a new name for him. Someone even started a book. "What would be Tony s new name for Murdoc today?" People would place bets on names that people had come up with. Tony of course would take a cut of the winnings, and this made him feel much better. But Murdoc just continued to quietly boil. After all, he lived with bullies. He knew what to expect, and he also knew that asking Tony to stop, was a complete waste of time. Not to mention probably would only result in a beating. Besides which, it wasn't that he was afraid if the large boy. In truth he found Tony to be rather dull of mind, and his constant name calling was more irritating than painful. He just wished he wouldn't do it so often. So he stayed as low as possible, and stuck with his friends. The tormenting continued, and Murdoc slipped even further into alcoholism to dull the pain, and help him to forget all the things that made his life a pure misery.

'Bloody Doris.' Murdoc found himself thinking more and more. At least before her "present" to him, he could quietly slip into his fantasy and escape the things around him, that bothered him the most. Now she'd spoiled that and made it one of the things that made his skin prickle in rage. He avoided the lunchroom for two reasons now. One of course was Doris. The less he saw of her, the happier he was. The second was Tony. He was in there making the rounds of the tables and collecting his "lunch tax." If you ate in there, you had to pay him. He made a fortune on rainy days, because the kids would have to eat in the lunch room then. Anyone who couldn't afford to pay him was automatically put on the list, and he'd beat you up after school. Murdoc was now going to school and spending the whole day hungry. Doris had spotted him walking along one of the corridors once, and tried to call him over. Murdoc quickened his pace and kept going. As far as he was concerned, she'd messed him up enough. No sense in giving her the opportunity to wreak things any more. She'd cornered him by the library and tried to get him to come with her. His temper flared and he practically spat in her face.

"Fuck off ya scrag. You touch me again and I'm goin straight to the principal. I think he'd loooooove to hear all about yer extra curricular activities." His venomous words had cut her quite deeply. Her eyes grew wide and she backed slowly away, smiling awkwardly and nervously, before she turned and walked quickly away. She never tried to speak to him again and avoided him at all costs. He was surprised at how affective his threat had been, but was grateful that at least one problem had been solved. Now for the other fifty billion things that bothered him in his young life. Nothing for it. Time for another drink. He was bringing whole bottles to school now. Stealing them from home and hiding them in his locker. Taking shots between classes and after lunch. By the end of the day it was quite obvious to some of the students and teachers, that the boy was drunk. Slurring his speech and staggering a little between classrooms. Tony noticed it to an this just added fuel to the fire and gave him one more reason to dislike Murdoc. But he tended to pay more attention to finding that one name that would cut the young boy deeply. That would be his permanent name for the boy. 'Faceache, Oddsock and Gaylord.' Gaylord got a very big reaction. Murdoc had swung around and glared at him viciously. This really made Tony smile and he tended to bring that one up more than the others.

One day after school. Murdoc is walking home after having missed the bus. He'd been 'playing' with one of the girls from year 3. She was pretty and had taken rather a shine to the now twelve year old Murdoc. Five years his junior, but more than willing to do as he asked. After all, Murdoc was in middle school, so going out with him would be really cool. As far as the seven year old girl thought anyway. Murdoc found this too hard to resist, and had convinced the young girl to meet him after school behind the toilet block. She said she'd do anything, and as far as he was concerned, that had meant anything. She didn't seem to understand a lot that he had asked her to do and when he'd explained it, she had hesitated, but of course he was Murdoc Niccals. And he could convince people to pretty much always do what he asked. Especially the younger more easily manipulated and naive ones. Murdoc had found this to be true on more than a few occasions. 'The younger they are, the easier it is to make them do anything you want'. He liked that idea a lot, and tended to single particular young girls out for "extra" attention. Murdoc did his best to convince the girl that everything was OK and not to worry. That if she really liked him, like she said. She would do the things he asked and make him happy. She had eventually fallen into line and complied with his wishes, not realizing as soon as she was done, he would have had no more real interest in her. But he'd keep her sweet. After all, there would always be tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. Not that the young girl had come out feeling the same way about any of this. She of course had, had no idea what she'd managed to get herself into with Murdoc, and the boy made sure he'd had gotten everything he could out of her, before she had burst completely into tears. Murdoc had calmed her down and managed to convince her that it was OK. That she had made him very happy and promised never to tell anyone. This had made her feel a lot better . So as far as Murdoc was concerned, that was that. 'Gay nuthin'. If you'd of seen what I just did, Tony ya big great poof. You wouldn't of thought so.' Murdoc chuckles to himself as he walks along. In his own mind, he'd just proved he was a man, so Tony had nothing on him.

His stomach growls painfully, snapping him out of his daydream and reminding him of yet another of his dilemmas. He looks around and sees a bakery across the road, the smell of bread and cakes fills his nostrils, and his stomach growls again. He rubs it and licks his lips, checking the road for traffic and darting across to stand in front of the window and watch the people inside. This didn't make things any better. If anything it made him hungrier, he steps back from the window and looks both ways up and down the street. Seeing an alley running down the side of the building, he thrusts his hands deep into his pockets and makes his way to it. It leads him to the back of the store and checking for anyone before he makes his move. The boy walks over to the back door. The door is locked, but as he stands there snarling angrily to himself, he sees a rubbish bin and slowly makes his way to it, still checking to see if anyone is watching. He opens the lid and looks inside. 'Who knows, there might be summink inside worth stealin'?' he thinks. Inside he sees old stale bread and broken pastries, they don't smell particularly good as the cream filled buns have obviously gone off. But the boy is that hungry he shrugs and decides to cut his losses. He takes out a bread roll, that appears to be relatively clean and sniffs it. It doesn't smell too bad, so he replaces the lid of the rubbish bin, and walks back down the alley. Taking small bites from the roll, and checking to make sure he's not eating any of the bad bits. It's very stale and there are a few flecks of mold growing on it. The boy breaks those pieces off and throws them away. He eats the rest and feels a little better, now that he has something in his stomach. Murdoc spends the next day throwing up. Never again will he eat out of rubbish bins. He needs a better plan.

The weekend finally comes around and Murdoc makes his way down the street to meet up with his friends. They didn't tend to do very much. Sometimes they'd just hang around on street corners or alley ways, talking about cars, or music they liked. Sometimes they'd talk about girls in class or funny things that happened. Sometimes Murdoc would drag them down to the local pubs, and they'd stand out the front and try to convince the drunks to buy beer for them. Sometimes they were actually successful, and would quickly head off to the park to drink, and throw stones at the ducks and swans. Murdoc hit one once and killed it. He was a little surprised at how good it had felt, and decided that the first chance he got, he'd buy a gun. He'd be able to kill more things a lot easier if he had a gun. 'Bloody Doris.'

Today was typical, and soon Murdoc found himself and his gang of ruffians, in one of the boys bedrooms. Having gotten bored doing everything else, they had decided to top off the day just listening to records. Murdoc was leaning against the window sill, listening to a little David Bowie, while looking out the window at the street below. A lot of his musical tastes had come from this and his brother Hannibal. Hannibal had just started getting into Punk, which meant that of course Murdoc had to hear about it. A few days before, the older boy had walked in the door sporting a bright red Mohawk. Jacobs eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight, and it'd taken the old man a good hour before he'd managed to stop laughing. Murdoc didn't really like Punk music, but then it was relatively new to the scene and he did have to admit that some of the songs Hannibal played at night on his personal record player, were pretty good. He liked Heavy Metal. Led Zeppelin and especially Ozzy Osbourne, Black Sabbath. That was his first love, Black Sabbath. The powerful heavy guitar and deep pounding bass. He'd lay back and listen to it while imagining the way the guitarists fingers moved up and down the strings. Murdoc turns from the window and sighs.

"Oi. You gunna feed us or what?" Murdoc snarls at Peter. The boy looks up at him and shrugs, then stands up and heads downstairs to the kitchen. Murdoc wanders over to Peters music selection, and flips through the albums. Looking for his favorite Sabbath album 'Paranoid'. Today was not a David Bowie day for him, as much as he may of liked the guys music. He wanted something heavier, something to really knock his socks off and help him forget about Tony and school. He finds what he's looking for, and slides it out of the crate that Peter kept his albums in. Then walks over to the player, dropping it down on top of the stack of albums next to it. Peter walks back into the room with a plate of sandwiches, and puts them on the bed. The gang descends on them like a hungry pack of wolves, Murdoc leading the way as usual.

"Mum said it's all we're gettin'. So we better...." Peter looks down at the now empty plate, and gasps in shock at how quickly they vanished. "Hey!? I didn't get one." Murdoc looks over at the disappointed boy, both fists full of crushed sandwiches. He grins and munches hungrily, as a piece of tomato slides from between the bread in his fingers, and drops onto the floor at his feet. He looks down at it, then up at Peter who is standing by the bed, mumbling angrily to himself at not being quick enough. Murdoc points at the slice of tomato on the floor.

"You can have that. I don't want it now. Heh, heh." He chuckles, as Peter slumps down on the bed, angrily sliding the plate away from him. The other boys laugh along with Murdoc and take some of the tomato from their sandwiches and drop them on the floor next to Murdoc s piece. Soon there is a small pile there and Murdoc grins back at Peter. "There you go. Now you have enough to make yer own sandwich." Peter turns and looks angrily at them.

"Oh funny. And stop throwin' shit on me floor. Mum will get pissed off again and she said, if you lot keep makin' the mess that ya do, then yer not allowed ta come ova no more. Especially you." He snaps, pointing at Murdoc. Muds stops chewing and slits his eyes at the boy. Not entirely sure why he was singled out.

"Why? What the fuck did I do?" He snaps back. Peter drops back on his elbows and points at Murdoc with his foot.

"Coz she didn't like the way ya patted her on the bum when ya first met her. Why did ya pat me Mum on the arse by the way?" Peter asks furrowing his brow, not quite sure he really wants to know, but too curious not to of asked. Murdoc slowly shakes his head, chuckling into his chest. He looks up at Peter and smiles in a rather sinister way, the boy shudders as the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Not really liking the way Murdoc is looking at him.

"Coz yer Mum is niiiiiiiicccccce." Murdoc drawls and adds a seductive wink. Peters mouth drops open in shock and his eyes grow wide. Murdoc shoves another handful of sandwiches into his mouth and chews loudly, looking at the tomato juice running down his fingers.

"Don' talk tha' way 'bout me Mum. Tha's just..... eww." Peter squeaks, screwing up his face and shuddering. Murdoc sucks on one of his fingers and glances up at the horrified boy. He rolls his eyes and takes the finger from his mouth.

"Ack! Don' be a baby. She is nice.... rrrreally nice. Rowl." He looks over at the rest of the giggling gang. "Ain' she boys?" He grins. The rest of the gang nod in agreement, some of them making rude gestures which makes Peter turn away in disgust. Murdoc walks over to the bed and drops down onto it, shoving Peter aside. Peter stands up and walks over to the record player.

"You guys are sick." He mutters, taking the now finished Bowie album off, and sliding it back into it's sleeve. Murdoc laughs to himself and lays back. Peter puts on the Sabbath album and soon the music begins to pump from the speakers. Murdoc sighs deeply and closes his eyes as he feels himself floating along with the music. He taps his foot in time with the beat and zones out. He doesn't want to be here any more. The nasty little hamlet of Stoke-on-Trent had nothing the boy knew he'd need in life. One day he was going to leave and find something greater. Something worthy of him. Something that would show the whole world that Murdoc Niccals was a force to be reckoned with and leave this stinking, rat infested hole behind him. One day, the whole world would be at his feet and he would have them all bow before him. This he knew. One day, he would be great. And everybody else could kiss his arse. He chuckles to himself at the thought and smiles. One day.


	7. Chapter 7

Murdoc sits quietly in his room one evening, listening to his brother playing Punk rock on his record player. He didn't really like Punk much. It was OK, but he preferred Heavy Metal. Fortunately, Hannibal was playing 'Anarchy in the UK.' by The Sex Pistols, and Muds did kind of like that one. He picks at the paint on the window sill, with one of his long talons. Smoking a cigarette and quietly mumbling along to the song, while occasionally looking out over the back yard. His dad had started charging him rent now, and it had cut heavily into the boys rather restricted finances. It annoyed him that he couldn't buy a turntable of his own, not to mention that although he did give his father money, he still came home and found most of whatever he had left, would usually be missing as well. Ultimately leaving the young boy completely broke for most of the time, and unable to pull himself out of the financial hole, his Dad seemed to want him in. He was sure it was Jacob. But without actual proof he couldn't be entirely sure. He sighs deeply and looks around his spartan room. He'd bought himself a few posters now, to cover the dull gray walls and give the room a burst of much needed color. While walking down the street one morning, the young boy had come across a small set of drawers and dragged it home, so now he had a proper table to put a few things on and some drawers to keep his few meager possessions in. One of his friends had told him about an old coffee table that his dad had been planning to throw away and Murdoc had immediately taken possession of that as well. So now the room looked a little better. Still, it could use a coat of paint maybe? He wondered if he could find some?

Just then the music suddenly stopped, making Murdoc turn his attention to his door. He listens, and hears Hannibal close his bedroom door. Murdoc listens intently, and hears the older boys footsteps moving in his direction. Quickly finishing the cigarette he steps back from the window, carefully making his way to his door and straining to listen. The footsteps seem to stop directly outside the boys door and Murdoc freezes instantly to the spot. A wave of panic shoots through him and he swallows hard, hoping that Hannibal will move off. He does and the boy breathes a heavy sigh of relief, as he hears the third step from the top creak loudly, indicating that Hannibal was making his way down stairs. Murdoc walks slowly forwards and stands by the door, he quietly reaches out and turns the handle, gently pulling the door open and poking his head out for a quick look. Seeing the stairwell is empty, he steps carefully forwards and crouches down, so he can look down the stairs. Hannibal is at the front door, checking his large red Mohawk in the mirror. Murdoc suppresses the urge to chuckle at the sight, as the image of a scrawny rooster pops into his head. The older boy winks at himself and heads for the door. Murdoc stands up and makes his way back to his room to grab his copy of 'Paranoid,' determined to not let the fact he doesn't own a record player stop him, from enjoying his favorite music.

He quickly makes his way across to Hannibal s room, carefully opening the door and stepping inside. He stops and looks around a moment almost fascinated by the amount of things the older boy owns. It seems to grow week by week, and each time Murdoc steps in he finds there is something new to look at. It doesn't disguise the fact the room is typically dirty, but at least he has a carpet, hidden under the pile of dirty clothes. Murdoc kicks aside a pair of Doc Martens and sees a pound note on the floor. Instantly he drops down and picks it up. For a moment he is about to slide it into his pocket, when he gets a feeling of dread, creep it's way into his chest. He leans down and drops it back onto the floor. Best not give Hannibal a reason to suspect he was in there. He looks at all the posters on the walls and down to the older boys bed, unmade as usual, with a large red dooner and black satin sheets. Murdoc stares at the sheets and thinks quietly to himself. 'I gotta get me some of them one day.' He roughly pulls the dooner cover over the bed, not too neat, or Hannibal would notice, but enough so that Murdoc doesn't have to look at the obvious stains that Hannibal has left on his bed. 'Night manoeuvres. Heh, heh.' Murdoc chuckles to himself. And stepping over the underwear and socks strewn across the floor, makes his way over to the opposite wall, where Hannibal s turn table is kept. He gently puts his album on the heavy wooden chest that his brother uses as a makeshift table, and carefully opens the lid of the record player. He stops for a moment and sniffs the air, scrunching up his face in disgust.

"Why the fuck does it smell more like wet arse on this side of the room, than it did on the other?" He complains, grabbing the collar of his shirt and lifting it up to cover his nose. "Yearch! That is just... just.... I don' even know what it is?" He shakes his head and presses the power button, carefully sliding his beloved record from its sleeve. He takes the dust cloth that Hannibal keeps in a pouch beside the player, and gently wipes the large black disc, before placing it on and checking the needle. Satisfied it's clear of debris, he gently lowers the needle into the first groove and turns the volume down a little, before stepping back. The record makes it's usual hissing noise as the needle moves steadily along the groove, before finding the music and beginning the song. Murdoc closes his eyes and smiles. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. The sound of the first note as it pushes it's way from the speakers, moving through the air like a bolt of lightning slicing it's way through the room and over to the boy. He opens his eyes again and heads over to the window. Hannibal had taken a large Union Jack and made it into a curtain, the boy pushes it aside and opens the window to let some of the stench out and the fresh air in. He takes one of the safety pins that is holding a large tear in the flag together and hooks it around a nail in the window frame on the other side, to hold the flag back so he can look out. Grabbing Hannibal s ashtray and bringing it closer to him, he takes one of the older boys cigarettes from a packet nearby and lights up. He smiles to himself as he watches the street below, feeling a little smug at being so clever and knowing that so long as he doesn't get caught, he could almost do this forever.

Ten minutes later. Murdoc is looking up towards the end of the street, when he sees one of his friends walking down the street towards his house. None of his friends had actually met his father, and Murdoc had no intention of that changing any time soon. He opens the window a little wider and sticks his head out as the boy reaches the gate, and begins to open it. Murdoc looks down at the boy at the gate and grins at him, folding his arms across the window sill and leaning his chest against them.

"Oi! Who opened the cage and let you out?" He chuckles down at the boy, making him stop and look around before looking up at him there in the window. Johnny smiles at him for a moment before he suddenly realizes what Murdoc had said, then waves him off with a chuckle and steps backwards away from the gate and starts heading to the road.

"Probably the same one wot let you out? Ya comin' or wot?" Johnny calls back as he starts walking along the edge of the gutter, balancing himself like a tight rope walker. Murdoc watches him for a moment before giving him an exaggerated shrug and nods.

"S'pose. Got nuthin' else ta do in this shit hole." He grumbles and closes the window again, holding up two fingers and mouthing at Johnny to wait. He switches everything off and carefully puts Hannibal s room back the way he found it. Turning back one last time to be sure everything is accounted for. Then taking his album back to his room, he grabs a handful of money and heads for the stairs, shoving the money deep into his pocket. He's about to walk to the front door when Jacob calls from the sitting room.

"Git yer soddin' arse in here!" Murdoc stops in his tracks and rolls his eyes. He turns slowly on his heel and heads across to the room, poking his head around the door to look at the old man. Jacob puts his hand out to the boy without a word. Murdoc looks down at it puzzled for a moment. Jacob opens and closes his fingers towards his palms rapidly, miming he expected some money to be placed in it. Murdocs mouth drops open a little, and he gives the old man a pained expression.

"Aww fuck off. I don't have much." He whines at the old man, hoping that Jacob would just once let him off this time. The old man shakes his head and thrusts his hand towards the boy again, shooting him and angry glare. Murdoc mutters a long string of angry swear words as he digs in his pocket for his money again, slamming it in the old mans waiting hand. "Why doncha just go up to me room and take it like ya normally do?" He snarls under his breath as he turns to walk back to the door.

"Don' worry ya little bastard. I intend to." Jacob snarls back from the sitting room. Murdoc freezes with his hand wrapped around the door knob. He hadn't intended for Jacob to hear him, but at least now he knows his suspicions where correct. He shakes his head and continues out the door, Joining Johnny for an evening of fun, vandalism and entertainment.

Hanging around on street corners and alleyways, is no longer interesting to Murdoc. He needs something more, something substantial to take his mind off things. He and the gang walk past a music shop and Murdoc quickly steps in the door and out again. The others look up at him and wonder what he is doing as they continue to follow him up the foot path. Murdoc shoves something in his pants, pulling his shirt down to cover it. Peter quickens his pace and moves to walk beside him. He points back and Muds chuckles, lifting his shirt to show the boy an album he just stolen. Peter stares at him wide eyed and laughs, as Murdoc pulls his shirt back down and grins at him.

"You ain' half quick ya know." Peter says, shaking his head. But Murdoc just shrugs and turns a corner heading for a pawn shop. When they finally get to the shop, Murdoc walks inside, leaving the others talking out the front. He places the album he stole on the counter and watches as the owner looks it over. He peers down at the boy from over the top of his glasses, studying him carefully.

"This yers ta sell son?" The old man asks, Murdoc rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest impatiently. He smiles a quick affirmation in response and looks out the shop window to the gang outside. "I do haffta ask ya know, ya ......" The old man trails off, as he steps around the counter and heads into a back room with the album in his hand. Murdoc slumps and raises his hands to the ceiling, making a plea to whatever force was out there to just give him one break. The old man finally comes back and opens the till, taking out a couple of pounds and dropping them into the boys hand. Murdoc eyes him a little, but isn't too fussy, money is money and before he had none, so why complain? He smiles nicely at the owner and heads back outside, shoving the money into his pocket. The gang follow him back up the street as Murdoc heads towards the supermarket.

He and the gang slowly walk round the car park, peering in the windows of the cars and looking for things to steal. When ever they see a car with it's doors unlocked, they carefully check to see if anyone is looking, before opening the door and rummaging around inside the car. Murdoc suddenly discovers the one he's in, still has the keys in the ignition. Bonus! He waves the others over and tells them to get in. Before long, he and the others are tearing out of the car park and up the street, with Murdoc at the wheel. It isn't too long before Murdoc over-steers a corner and crashes into a garden wall. He and the others pile out the car laughing, thinking it was all very funny and not concerning themselves with how dangerous that was. Suddenly a police car screeches to a halt behind them and two policemen jump out and give chase. Murdoc dashes through a front garden and blots as fast as he can down a side alley, the policemen slides on the gravel surface and almost falls over. This helps Murdoc a lot and he leaps over a fence and runs across a back yard, leaping over the opposite fence and shooting towards the back, one more fence and he's sure he'll get away. He leaps the fence and lands on a small child s bike, hurting himself quite badly. The policeman follows and before Murdoc can say another word, he's bundled into the back of the police car.

Fortunately for Murdoc, his young age only got him a severe reprimand from the judge. Unfortunately, he got a vicious beating from his dad when he got home, for being stupid enough to get caught. Hannibal spent the next week laughing and telling him how stupid he was, to think he could get away with that. This of course made the boy more determined to prove his brother wrong. He was Murdoc Niccals and he could do anything.


	8. Chapter 8

Murdoc s fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays sailed by without notice. Not that Murdoc really minded, he'd gotten used to not celebrating them. He still felt left out when the other kids mentioned what they'd gotten for theirs. Or talked about the party they had. And cakes and drinks. He'd smile sourly and clench his jaw, slinking off to sit in the shadows away from the smiling happy people and their fun. It was only when he listened to other people talking about their birthday celebrations, that he minded not having one. It was like they were rubbing it in and deliberately trying to make him feel bad, about his situation in life. Torturing him for not being as fortunate as they were. A little kid makes his way past the fuming boy, Murdoc looks down at the child and grins evilly, reaching over and slapping him quite hard across the back of the head. The little boy falls over, coming down hard on one knee. Murdoc s eyes shine with satisfaction, as the child looks up at him whimpering. A small tear creeping out from the corner of the little boys eye. Murdoc raises his hand again and the child scrambles to his feet and runs off. Murdoc sits back and sighs, once again back in control of the air around him, and feeling much better for it.

Although no one else had thought to buy him a gift for either of his passing birthdays, this didn't stop Murdoc from buying one for himself. He walks into an army disposals and looks around. Hannibal had started coming home talking about Hitler and Nazis a lot. Of course this meant that the boy had no choice but to listen to the long speeches Hannibal made, about how white people were superior and Nazi this and Nazi that. Murdoc of course only half listened, but did find some of Hannibal s talk quite fascinating. He did like their style. Hannibal had shown him pictures of Nazis in their uniforms. All lined up at one of the many rallies they'd held. Holding on to large banners and flags. Huge swastikas waving in the background. Hitler was like a rock star. Able to stand up and really shake the audience to the very soul. All the color, music and spectacle. Everything was so big and powerful, you couldn't help but be wrapped up and swept away with it all. It all must of seemed so much bigger than each and every one of the people in that audience. His speeches where the keystone that seemed to cement everything, and lock it all into place. Once the grandness had dulled their senses and lulled them into submission. Then Hitler would walk out onto the stage and wake them up again. His booming voice would explode around them, like a hypnotic vocal dance. Each word passionately thrown to the audience, grabbing what was left of their senses, and shaking what little self control the audience had left. Sucking it up like a leech, and leaving the audience to surrender themselves to him completely. Murdoc smiles and imagines himself in Hitlers place. Now there was power.

He sees a row of hats on a shelf in the back of the store, and makes his way over to them. Murdoc can in a way see Hannibal s point of white supremacy. But he isn't so taken by the idea that he can't see the importance of other cultures. After all. Everyone at some point in their family history came from somewhere else. 'Go back far enough and yer gunna discover that yer not as British as you thought.' He thinks to himself, while trying on a WW1 style helmet. Music itself has so many different influences. Where would rock be without the pounding drums of Africa? The Latin rhythms that gently caress you, and make you want to get up and move. He shakes his head and waves it off. Nazi style? Eh? Why not. The idea? Not bad, needs improvement. He smiles as his eyes fall on an SS officers peak hat. That's the one. That's what he's buying himself for his birthday. He takes it down and tries it on. It's too big for him, but he doesn't care. That's what he wants and he can always grow into it. Murdoc walks back to the front desk and puts the hat down on the counter. The lady picks up the hat and places it in a paper bag. Murdoc hands her his money and the boy walks from the shop happily. He did like the looks of horror he sometimes got, as he walked down the street, in his denim jacket with the Swastika patches in the sleeves. So although he had no intention of dedicating his life to the Nazi movement, some of the fashion and style that oozed from it, would provide him with the necessary bits and pieces to throw people off guard, and give him that edge to really catch their attention. Well five minutes before he buried them up to their necks in sand, and brought in a harvester. He chuckles to himself and steps into a cake shop. A few seconds later he's ushered out again, by a very angry store owner. Murdoc turns slowly round and glares back into the shop.

"I am makin' a list you know!" He growls and continues on his way. Quite a large number of shop owners knew him now, and knew that most of the time the boy was up to no good. So instead of waiting for Murdoc to rob them blind, they tended to throw him out of their store, ahead of schedule. Much to Murdoc s growing annoyance. Mostly because there were times he was actually going in there to buy something. He stops for a moment and slowly looks down the street, pointing out and mentally counting off, the number of shops he can no longer go into. He is surprised by the number and shrugs. "Twenty two on this street alone. Not bad really. Heh, heh." Chuckling to himself he heads for a cafe he knows he hasn't had any run ins with. Yet.

A few days later, Murdoc wanders into a second hand store. His bedroom was now as decorated and as comfortable as his brothers, but was still missing a few items that Murdoc felt he needed to complete it. One was a rug. Hannibal had this shaggy rug in the middle of the floor. If you looked at it in the right light, it looked like an old English sheep dog had died on the floor after being run over by a steam roller. He found that image funny, but still he wanted one. The other thing was a record player. He definitely needed one of those, as he was still "borrowing" Hannibal s. Twice he'd nearly been caught and he knew he couldn't keep sneaking into the older boys room forever. Making his way to the back of the store where the electrical equipment was kept, Murdoc looks at the record players and checks the price tags. He does have a budget in mind and hopes today will be successful. Slowly stepping from one player to the next, he finds his heart sinking. Still too expensive. He gets to the last player and takes a deep breath before turning over the tag. His heart sinks completely. Not today. Something on the floor next to the shelf makes him stop. His eyes nearly pop out of his head and he reaches down and touches it with a shaking hand. A black Bass Guitar. Now that would be really cool. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of the Bass guitar in one of his favourite Led Zeppelin songs. Really cool.

"Nice ain' it?" A voice pipes up behind him, snapping him from his thoughts. The boy looks around and sees the shop owner standing behind him. He gives the man a quick smile and turns back to the instrument on the floor. It almost seems to be calling to him. Telling him to pick it up and hold it. He checks the price tag and almost has a small coronary. Way too expensive. He sighs and plunges his hands deep into his pockets. He knows he could never afford that.

"Yeah. But I don' have anywhere near that kind'a money." He moans and turns to walk away, deciding to just stick to finding that rug. The man picks up the Bass and shoves it towards the boy, making him stop and look up at him. Murdoc takes the Bass from him and is surprised it's a bit heavier than he'd anticipated. Adjusting for the weight, he quickly becomes used to it and holds it the way he's seen in the posters on his wall. It feels good in his hands and he somehow just knows this is for him. This is who Murdoc Niccals is. 'Bass player extraodinaire'. He slowly lets out a warm satisfied grunt. "It's perfect though hey?"

"Yer the Niccals boy. Aincha?" The shop owner asks, smiling at him and picking up the amplifier from the floor. He ushers him back to the front of the shop. Murdoc walks ahead of him, tapping the strings and pretending to be a rock star, playing to an invisible audience. Almost forgetting where he is for a moment. Far too wrapped up in his little fantasy. He snaps out long enough to answer though.

"Yeah why?" He asks as he reaches the front desk. Turning and pretending to be playing a powerful chord. He steps forward and bows to his invisible audience, holding up his hands and encouraging applause. The man smiles and laughs into his chest, then applauds him. Murdoc turns and feels a small thrill shoot up his spine. That moment convinces him, he was right. This is who he is meant to be. He bows to the shop owner and watches as the man plugs the amplifier and Bass in.

"Thought ya were. Here, now give it a try." He says and encourages Murdoc to try it out for real. Murdoc looks down at the Bass and hits one of the strings, he makes a few random odd notes and although it isn't very good, the sound does please him and convince him even further. The man leans back on the counter watching him, nodding and smiling at the boys antics. Although the noise was rough. He certainly has the style. Murdoc finishes and looks back at him.

"Heh, heh. I need lessons." He chuckles. The store owner nods and reaches back behind he counter, picking up and acoustic guitar, he lays it across the counter and moves back over to the amplifier, switching it off and taking back the Bass guitar. Murdoc feels a little disappointed, but doesn't complain. It was good while it lasted and he did feel it was very nice of the man to let him play with it for a while. No one had ever done that for him before. Not that he, in a way, didn't really know why.

"Tells ya wot. If ya want that." The man says, pointing to the Bass he has just stood next to the counter. "Then learn this." He continues, sliding the acoustic on the counter top, towards the boy. Murdoc furrows his brow and steps over to it, not quite sure he understands what the man means.

"I can' afford lessons." Murdoc grumbles, picking up the acoustic and turning it over in his hands, as he studies it. The man jots something down on a piece of paper and slides it across the counter towards him. Murdoc looks up and looks blankly at the paper. Then up at the mans face, still not sure what the man is trying to say.

"That's my address. See ya Saturday, around lunch time. I'll teach ya the basics. From there, yer on yer own. Okay?" The man smiles. Murdoc puts the base of the acoustic on the floor, and picks up the piece of paper from the counter, reading it. He looks back up at the man, and slits his eyes suspiciously. The man shrugs and goes to pick up the Bass. "Oh well. If ya don't want it then...?" Murdoc steps forwards and puts his hand round the neck of the Bass, stopping him from taking it away.

"Yeah I want it! I just don' git whacha sayin'." Murdoc snaps. The man explains to him that he will give Murdoc a few quick lessons for free, and that if he practices and gets good enough, then he'll give Murdoc the Bass guitar as a gift. Murdoc s mouth drops open in shock, and he stares wide eyed at him. FREE! For a moment he can't move or speak. Slowly his suspicion grows again, and he slits his eyes again. "No one gits summink fer nuthin'." He hisses. The man smiles and nods.

"True. But somehow, I get the feeling that this is something that just won't get wasted. So I want ya ta have it. But not till ya learn how ta use it properly. OK?" The man answers, and slowly ushers the boy out of the shop. Murdoc steps through the door and onto the pavement, still shocked at what he'd just heard. He looks around and tries to work out if he's dreaming. He must be dreaming? This was far too wonderful to be real. For a moment he hears a small voice in his head say that this was probably why he'd never had a birthday gift before. The big build up to this moment. This was his gift from.... the universe? Fate paying him back for all the pain and suffering he'd been through up to that moment? 'About time an' all.' He thinks to himself and looking at the instrument in his hands, heads back home.

He finally arrives home and heads straight up stairs to put his guitar away. Hannibal is just stepping from his room as Murdoc reaches the top step and spots him. He freezes inside as the boy closes his bedroom door and sneers at him. Seeing the guitar in his hands, Hannibal s face softens and he walks over to him, holding out his hand and taking the guitar. The older boy turns it over in his hands and studies it quietly for a moment. Murdoc steps back and says nothing, plunging his hands into his pockets and zoning out a little, hoping that Hannibal doesn't do anything to spoil this for him. Suddenly his mind clicks and he shakes his head. Ha! Of course Fate wasn't paying him back. She was setting him up. Oh well, it was good while it lasted. He studies the side of his shoe and waits for the destruction to begin.

"Nice." Hannibal purrs. "Didja steal it?" The boy strums the string and listens to the sound echo around the stairwell. Hannibal had taken a few lessons himself, but had never taken it too seriously and had given up after a while, preferring to save his money for other things. Murdoc shrugs not really answering him, but not wanting to anger him changes the subject slightly.

"Is it a good one then?" He asks looking up a little in the older boys direction, Hannibal s voice sounds different. Gruff as usual, but not angry. Something else? Hannibal continues to strum the Guitar, listening carefully. Murdoc leans back against the wall listening. The boy is playing quite well, although he isn't playing any real tune. Still it sounds really good and Murdoc is actually a little impressed.

"It ain' a bad one. Needs tunin' though. I could do that fer you." He smiles and heads into Murdoc s room. The young boy is a little surprised by this, but still not convinced it will work out well. He follows Hannibal in and waits just inside the door. The older boy sits down on his younger brothers bed and slowly starts to tune the instrument. Murdoc presses himself into the corner and waits. Hannibal finishes and starts to play a quiet tune on the Guitar, he seems quite calm and soon the young boy begins to feel that something is different this time. He stops cringing and instead listens carefully as Hannibal plays. The tune ends and Hannibal stands up, gently laying the instrument down on the end of the bed and walking to the door.

"Git yerself some lessons. It's a good thing ta learn." Hannibal winks at Murdoc and punches him gently in the shoulder, before making his way downstairs and out for the evening. Murdoc blinks hard at the now empty stairwell. Although a little shocked at how Hannibal had behaved, Murdoc knows it never lasts long and the boy would very soon get back to making his life a misery. But it is nice when there is a moment of peace between them, it's just a pity it can never be more permanent.


	9. Chapter 9

After yet another long and tedious day. Murdoc is heading out of the schools front gate, when he suddenly catches sight of his arch enemy Tony Chopper. Up until now, he had managed to avoid a confrontation with the large boy. Keeping his distance and ducking behind buildings whenever he sees him, heading in his direction. Right now, the idea of having that change, is not something Murdoc wishes to happen. It's not so much that he's afraid of the large boy. More that he just can't be bothered trying to get the moron to understand how dull he really is. The name calling was annoying, but that was about it. The fact that Tony had not once changed his routine and come up with anything more intelligent to say. Just seemed to prove to Murdoc, that he was dealing with a total and utter plank. Telling Tony that of course, would be more than a waste of time. Perhaps if he had the time and patience, he could sit him down and draw lots of little pictures. Surely that would help get the point across. But Murdoc doesn't feel the concept is something that would even make a dent in the large bullies mind. Even if he did happen to have one. In Murdoc s opinion, monkeys had more brains. The boy slows his pace a little, but continues walking along hoping the large boy is too busy talking to his friends to notice him. He's almost made it out the gate and down the path, when suddenly he hears Tony s gruff voice call out to him.

"Oi Faceache!" Murdoc cringes but keeps walking. Tony steps forwards and calls out again louder this time. "I woz talkin' to you Reject! Don' fuckin' ignore me!" Murdoc stops and slowly turns around to face the bully. A small group of girls sitting an a wall nearby giggle and stare at him, which makes him cringe inside and wish he'd taken the other gate. But it was too late now. Tony wanted his attention and now he was going to have to give it. He sighs and looks down at his feet, resting his weight on his hips. His anger at having to put up with this from certain people, had been growing steadily over the years. And now he decided, he just wasn't going to tolerate this sort of thing from people any more. Especially from the likes of Tony Chopper. One day, he was going to take people like him in the palm of his hand, and crush the life out of them. But till then he was just going to have to make sure people understood he was, and always would be, far greater than they could ever be. The fire inside roars to life again, and Murdoc snaps his eyes up from his shoe, glaring hard at the approaching boy. Tony stops directly in front of him and smiles.

"Well. Don' you look scary?" Tony laughs and looks back at his friends for encouragement. His friends laugh along with him, pointing at the boy and making stupid faces. Tony chuckles and turns back to the now smouldering Murdoc. And is a little surprised that Murdoc has neither moved nor said anything. He sees something in the boys eyes, and it begins to make him feel a little nervous. But Tony has no intention of allowing the likes of Murdoc Niccals to intimidate him. After all, in Tony s opinion, Murdoc was a waste of space. And the sooner Murdoc admitted it to him and everyone else in the school, the better the bully would feel. He decides to fall back on his usual routine of name calling and insults, hoping to get the reaction he usually got. Which was to have Murdoc turn tail and walk away like the coward Tony took him for. Murdoc s rage continues to boil and bubble away like a volcano getting ready to erupt.

"Well Reject? Is that all yer gunna do? Just stand there and stare at me?" Tony prods with a sneering smile, and waits for Murdoc to walk off. But Murdoc continues to glare at the large boy, his eyes blazing brightly. Tony shifts his weight from one foot to the other, frustrated that it hadn't worked as fast as he'd expected it to. So he thinks a little more, and prods him further. "Nerdoc?.... Gaylord?.... Trenchfoot?.... Runt?............ Great stinking pile of horse dung?!" The young boys rage peaks even higher, and he suddenly takes a step forwards. Not once allowing his gaze to shift from Tony even an inch. Tony stops and stares back, almost not quite believing what the boy had just done. Murdoc doesn't usually confront him like this? 'He should be cowering and running away like the pussy he is by now?' Tony thinks. A few moments pass between the two boys as they stand there just outside the school gates. The entire yard around them seems to of fallen silent, as if everyone is waiting for what will follow this sudden turn of events. The proverbial chill wind sails around them, and the only sound that can be heard is the traffic off somewhere in the distance.

"Is that it?" Murdoc snarls deeply, after having felt he'd waited long enough for the morons brain to have caught up with the events. It wasn't a surprise at all to Murdoc that Tony was sticking to his routine. Boring. "Is that all yer gunna do? Just stand there and reel off a list of names?" Tony blinks at the boy, his mouth hanging open in dull shock. For a moment his mind goes completely blank for a response. What was this? Murdoc doesn't make comebacks at him? Well he never had before. He can feel the eyes of all the other students burrowing into him and he shifts his weight again. He knows he has to say something, or at least do something and quick. He can't allow Murdoc to get away with this and wracks his small narrow mind for a response. His brain falls straight back into it's usual groove, and he once again thinks that maybe another name would get him? He finally looks up again and grunts at him.

"Oh fuck off Wallybollocks. Why doncha just do wot you do best and leg it back home ta Mummy?" Tony smiles, thinking this would be enough to affected the boy, and he would get his usual giggle from the crowd, for being so clever at being able to insult the boy, Murdoc surely would have to react now. It had after all worked for him in the past. So he didn't feel this time would be any different, and Murdoc would just walk away. But the kids don't giggle. They turn and look back at Murdoc silently, who just simply smiles and folds his arms over his chest, with a warm glow of confidence in his face. This bothers Tony considerably, and the large boy furrows his brow. Trying to work out what has happened to make such a drastic change in the situation, and more so in the boy. He clenches his jaw and his fists unsure of himself for the moment, feeling that he has somehow stepped into new territory. He looks around at his gang in the hopes of some sort of support. But they seem to be as fixed on Murdoc as everyone else. Tony swallows hard and hopes it's just a momentary lapse in their concentration. The thought of not having them to back him up right now was more than Tony could stand.

"Oh I'm sorry. Did you mistake my sheer boredom of you as a reaction?" Murdoc smiles and shakes his head, he can feel the changing tide and can see by the reaction of the crowd around him, that Tony is slipping. Tony gives him a visual 'Huh?' but before he can say anything Murdoc continues. "Oh no. I guess I should of written you a sick note. 'Please excuse Murdoc from your latest repetitive name calling session, as he is far too busy being entertained by watching grass grow. Thank you.'" Tony puts his finger up to say something, but Murdoc is on a roll. And not having any intention of allowing Tony to regain control, cuts him off. "Or better yet! I could of drawn you a picture. Save you taxin' yer tiny brain tryin' ta figure it out." Murdoc chuckles, a small spattering of giggles moves it's way through the crowd, making Tony look up and around sharply. They're laughing at him! Why not at what he'd said? They had before. He looks back at Murdoc blankly, still not sure where this burst of confidence has come from and why the crowd had shifted sides.

"What?" Is all he manages to come back with, as the giggles from the crowd begin to grate on his nerves, and make him even more angry than he was to begin with. He can feel his cheeks burning brightly with embarrassment, and he wasn't liking this at all. Murdoc was beating him down and he could feel it. 'This Runt is getting the better of me? HOW!?' His mind screams at him. He can feel his power slipping out from under him. Moving directly towards the boy. Murdoc rolls his eyes and takes another step forwards. Pushing his attitude ahead of him, to intimidate the large boy as much as he dares. The boy knows he has the bully on the ropes. Tony is looking around him nervously. Murdoc can see and almost smell the fear and ignorance in the boy. Like a boxer bouncing around his opponent, Murdoc has been verbally pounding away at Tony, weaving in and darting back again out of the way. One more hit and the chunky moron was going down for the count.

"Lemme spell it out fer you? You are a useless bloated backward waste of space who is probably gunna end up gettin' a job holdin' up For Sale signs on street corners, only to wind up gettin' yerself fired and replaced by a bucket of soil." He snarls with his face mere centimetres from the now angrily shaking bully. The crowd erupts in laughter and the students point at Tony. As he turns around slowly to face each and every one of them, his face a mask of horror. He realizes not one of them is afraid of him any more. Murdoc has won. He once again has managed to come out on top, and he had an audience to prove it. With tears stinging the corners of his eyes, he rounds angrily on Murdoc again. Pulling back his fist and punching the boy squarely on the nose. The bone shatters with a dull crunch, sending Murdoc flying backwards. Tony leaps onto him pounding into the boys chest side and stomach, until some of Murdoc s friends manage to pull the large boy off him. To Tony s utter surprise, Murdoc climbs to his feet laughing, with a huge smile spread across his bloodied face. This is far too much for the large boy, and angrily he slinks away. Upset and throughly beaten. Murdoc waits until the boy is out of sight before he shakily leans against Peter, who walks with him and helps him home. He was hurt, but he knew that for him to really win that fight, he needed to show how little Tony had affected him. Now he could relax and tend to his wounds. Still his pain did not mask how thrilled he was at winning. Tony was a mere fly speck to him. And from this moment on, just not something worth wasting his time even thinking about. The best part was now Tony knew that as well.

One afternoon Murdoc is wandering around down the Arndale centre. Bored as usual, and wondering if there was anything new he could do in this shit-hole backwater of a town. He looks up and sees a man handing out leaflets. He stops and watches the man for a while, thinking to himself that, that was definitely not something he'd ever do. No matter how desperate he ever got for money. He'd rather become a male prostitute, and sell his body to fat wealthy businessmen first. He giggles at the thought and vows he would never allow himself to get that desperate. In Murdoc s mind it was the lowest of the low. A job only the desperately dateless would want. He sits down on a wall and takes a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up. His guitar lessons had finished, and he'd finally come into possession of the black Bass guitar. Which he now had proudly displayed on his wall. Taking it down only to practice with. He'd surprised himself at how easy he'd found it. The store owner had suggested to Murdoc that he was possibly gifted. Murdoc of course knew this wasn't entirely true. He was just glad for the praise and encouragement. Something he'd been starved of for so long, that it was almost like oxygen to a drowning man. A little went a long, long way. He did his usual things during the day, vandalism, general rough housing and spot of thievery. Before heading home to continue practising on his guitar in his room. A few times he'd heard noises outside his door and stopped. Once he'd quickly rushed to his door and opened it, just in time to see Hannibal s door slowly and quietly being pulled shut. Since taking possession of the guitar, Hannibal had calmed down a little. Not all the way, he still made Murdoc s life a misery. He just didn't seem to be doing it as frequently. This surprised Murdoc a little and he wasn't sure why. But he wasn't willing to rock the boat. So he left things alone. Knowing he was better off not saying anything, or asking his brother to explain.

Murdoc is so busy engrossed in his thoughts, that he doesn't see the man approach him, until a leaflet is placed in his hand. He looks up and watches as the man walks away again. He grunts and is about to toss the paper over his shoulder. When he catches sight of the symbol on top of the page. A goats head atop a Pentagram. Murdoc is intrigued and begins to read. Slowly it seems the words begin to entice him to continue reading down the page, further and further. Almost like a beautiful woman slowly dancing in his mind. Sliding her hands down her thin lithe body, as she sways her hips seductively. Reaching her hands out and beckoning him to come to her.'Riches-on earth.' The words seem to say out loud, making his eyes shine and imagine himself surrounded by mountains of money. 'Sexual gluttony.' He licks his lips and sees himself laid back with beautiful women running their fingers down his body, wrapping their long legs about him. 'Alcoholic excess.' He sits back and looks blankly ahead, his eyes shining like gem stones. Oh yes. This was something for him. He had become attracted to the idea of Satanism before, when listening to Black Sabbaths greatest hits collection, but had never really taken it much further. He'd just shrugged and said it would be an interesting thing to play with. The leaflet sitting in his hand now, seemed like a hand of encouragement. Pressed firmly in his back and pushing him forwards. Telling him to go ahead and snatch it up. Absolutely he'd take it up, if that's what it's all about. He was going places, and if Satanism could give him the fast track to the success he craved in his life, then by all means he would include it in his existence. He stands up and shoves the leaflet into his pocket, then heads for the nearest book store. If he was going to do this, then reading up as much as he could on it, was a good way to start.

Very quickly he amasses a large number of books on Devil Worship, Voodoo and The Black Arts. Determined to take in as much as he can on the subject. This was not something he intended to treat as a simple flight of fancy. No, this was serious and he was going to do that. Take it seriously. His room begins to reflect his new passion as well. Soon he has black curtains on his windows, a few animal skulls dotted round his room, some candles and even a couple of posters of Anton La Vey and Aleister Crowley. He'd also painted a large red Pentagram on one wall. Hannibal had stepped into the boys room one day, to yell at him about something or another, and surprisingly his mouth dropped open in shock. Without a word or even a sound, his brother had simply backed out again. Pulling the door quietly shut behind him. This had made Murdoc raise a curious eyebrow and chuckle. But somehow he felt as though he was born to be a Satanist. He'd found himself and he was sure of it. It felt too right not to be right for him. He studies the books with a hunger that he had never shown his school books, memorizing almost whole pages and passages. Snapping up any books mentioned by them and scouring shelves in libraries. Asking the librarians if they had any suggestions. One had said, 'Yes. Go to church you little heathen.' But Murdoc ignored her and continued his search and studies. Not surprisingly, if his teachers had seen him they would of been thoroughly amazed. Murdoc Niccals studying? Never. If he had been given an essay on any one of them though, he'd of passed with flying colors. Ask him a question on Aleister Crowley? He could practically tell you the mans shoe size. Satanism fit him like a glove and he couldn't imagine why he hadn't done this much sooner?

Not long later. Murdoc is picking his way through a jumble sale, when he looks up and sees a large box on a table. He walks over to it and starts rummaging around inside. Suddenly his hand falls on something interesting, and he pulls out an A.C.M.E Do-it-yourself Satanist kit. He stares at the box and raises an eyebrow, feeling rather intrigued about the odd coincidence. 'It's almost like I'm bein' called to?' He thinks and shrugs. He stands there quietly for a moment, reading the back of the box . Wondering just how true that statement was. But eventually comes to the conclusion that he doesn't really care. He takes the kit over to the stall holder and immediately buys it. Then quickly makes his way home. Heading straight up to his room, curious to see what's inside the box. He takes off his jacket and sits down on the bed with his new prize. Opening it he finds almost everything he needs to make and altar. He smiles to himself and sets to work. He imagines all the spells he could cast on this thing. Perhaps one of the first things he could do is make a Voodoo doll of Tony, and really stick it to the moron. He chuckles at the thought and continues working. Once done, he stands back and admires his creation. Now he felt complete. Perfect. If anyone ever got in his way again, he was sure a few well placed words to the man down below couldn't hurt? Could it?


	10. Chapter 10

Now much happier in school because Tony has given up and completely backed down from him. Because the bully has instead turned his pent up rage on other students, who are of course much smaller and more easily intimidated by him. Murdoc gets back to concentrating on what he does best. Which is of course to be his lovable roguish self. Much to the continued annoyance of his teachers. His grades did very slightly improve however, and they were a little shocked by that. But as soon as that growth spurt happened it stopped again. Levelled out, and remained where it was. Average. Not a word Murdoc liked to hear really. Him average? Never. He was was brilliant, amazing. Not to mention a big hit with the girls. This turned out to be more than very true. After Tony, the girls did begin to take more of an interest in the boy. And he now seemed to be leaving a rather long string of devastated conquests behind him. Unlike the other boys, Murdoc didn't tend to brag very often about his extra curricular activities. Mostly because when he did say anything, they didn't believe him. But mostly because the girls were left wishing they hadn't had anything to do with him. And were often left too embarrassed to say anything about what had happened, or what Murdoc had encouraged them to do. This meant that no one in the school knew about it, and that left the boy free to move onto the next unsuspecting girl. And he didn't just limit himself to the girls at his school either. He would try to take on any girl he met. His charm and wit would more often than not win out in the end. And surprisingly for a sixteen year old boy, he had a pretty healthy sexual lifestyle.

Murdoc is sitting on the floor in Hannibal s room. Quietly listening to Dios 'We rock.' Album. His brother had called out to Jacob before he'd left, saying that he was planning to stay out all night. So that meant he would probably not be home till morning. So the boy believed he had the record player all to himself, and obviously he wouldn't need to keep an eye out the window for the return of his brother. He quietly mouths the lyrics to himself as he flips through one of Hannibal s many pornographic magazines. Unknown to Murdoc, Hannibal suddenly steps through the front door. He stops at the sitting room door and looks in for his dad. But quickly finds that Jacob isn't in there. So he shrugs and wanders down towards the kitchen. He sees the old man sitting at the table, drinking and reading the horse racing section from the newspaper. Hannibal opens his mouth to say something, when he suddenly hears music coming from upstairs. He tips his head slightly to his shoulder, listening. Thinking the sound was coming from up stairs, he slowly turns on his heel and heads back towards them. Stepping up onto the bottom step, the older boy grabs the railing and stops again to listen. Realizing it is most definitely coming from up stairs he grits his teeth and slowly makes his way up. Stopping before the creaky third step, Hannibal stops again and listens, turning his head back towards his room. 'Murdoc.' He hisses in his mind, as it becomes obvious to the older boy that the music is definitely coming from his room. He deliberately steps over the third step, so as not to alert the boy of the approaching danger. The enraged older boy storms across to his door, tearing it open and shouting with all his might.

"What the fuck do you think yer doin'?!" Murdoc jumps in shock leaping away from his brother, and dropping backwards onto his hands. He frantically begins to crab walk backwards towards the window, slamming himself against the wall. Hannibal steps into the room, his body almost seems to fill the doorway completely, so Murdoc looks around the rest of the room desperately. Hoping to find another way to escape. But there's no where to run or hide and he knows it. The older boy walks over to the record player and slams off the machine. He stops the record and looks at the title, snapping an angry look back at his brother. Murdoc reaches out a hand in defence as Hannibal storms over to him, grabbing him by the shirt and bodily lifting him from the floor. Murdoc tries to stammer an apology, but Hannibal is not listening. He barely gets a sound out, before the furious older boys fist connects sharply with Murdoc s already broken nose. The boys head snaps back, blood exploding from his face. But Hannibal is not satisfied yet. And bringing his fist back again, he smashes it back into Murdocs nose, before lastly bringing his fist round, connecting viciously with the boys jaw. He drags the dazed boy back to the door and tosses him out, screaming a long string of abuse. Murdoc lands heavily on his stomach, his vision a smudged blur and his ears ringing loudly. His mouth fills with the strange metallic taste of blood, as it runs down the back of his tongue and into his throat.

"And take this shit with you!" Hannibal roars, tossing the record and sleeve at him. The album sails through the air hitting Murdoc in the back of the head. "Stay the fuck out of my room ya scrotum!" The dazed and battered boy slowly gets to his knees, trying to blink his vision clear. Holding his shattered nose in one hand, while sliding the record from behind him with the other. He slowly raises his head and looks down the small passage. Just ahead and closer to the open door of his room, Murdoc can see the album cover lying on the floor. He blinks slowly again, and tries to swallow back the sharp taste of blood in his mouth. It makes his stomach churn, and for a moment he thinks he's going to throw up. His head falls back on his shoulders as his muscles relax involuntarily. His eyes rolling back showing only the whites of them. He snaps it upright again, as pain shoots through from his shattered nose into the back of his eyes and down into his jaw. He moans and picks up the record, struggling to his feet and swaying unsteadily. As the room seems to dip and dive left and right, like the unsteady rocking of a boat on the waves. It seems to make his pain even worse and he grits his teeth trying to push it back, as blood pours from his nose and down his chin. He allows his weight to make him fall sideways against the wall, as the room dips heavily again causing his legs to begin to shake. Using it to keep himself upright as he stops for a moment, to allow a wave of nausea to pass over him, his stomach muscles tighten and threaten to push the sickness from his body. He takes a deep breath and holds it. Closing his eyes and refusing to allow himself to throw up. Slowly the sensation dies away again, and feeling a little better, he continues to slide his way along the wall. Heading for his room with the blood still pumping from his shattered nose, he barely notices the blood running down his chin and dripping onto the floor. He's far too concerned about getting out of the passage and away from his brother. The room continues to sway back and forth, as the dazzles of light, playing at the corners of his eyes, seem to be making the room darken and brighten again with sickening regularity. The pain throbs in his face, as his ears continue to ring loudly. The sounds in the room around him seem muffled, in comparison to the sound of his abnormally loud breathing. He finally makes it to the album cover, and carefully slides his body down the wall to retrieve it. The pressure in his head starts to build with his movement down the wall, making his nose and face pound even more with pain. He lifts his head back, which seems to make it a little better, and blindly feels around the floor for the cover. Finding it he picks it up and blindly tosses it into the room, for now not caring how or where it lands. He shuts his eyes again and pushes back the pain, sliding back up the wall and continuing on into the room. He takes his hand from his nose for a moment to grip the door handle and move away from the wall, catching sight of his blood. He retches a little and staggers across to the bed allowing himself to fall towards the chest at the end of it, reaching out his hand to stop himself continuing on to the floor. He drops the album onto the chest and slides around to the bed itself, feeling the darkness closing in around him. His eye lids flicker as he falls heavily forwards, finally crashing down face first onto the bed. The room becomes dark and the heavy shroud of unconsciousness finally and almost mercifully overtakes him.

Murdoc wakes the next morning, his pillow and face caked in dried blood. He winces as he peels his face from the material, and drags himself to his feet. His nose had stopped hurting much more now. But his face still felt swollen and his eyes hurt. Slowly he walks to the bathroom and closes the door behind him, making his way over to the sink to clean up. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and for a moment is horrified by what he sees and almost cries out angrily in shock. 'What the fuck has he done to me!?' He thinks biting his lip and not wanting to see himself any more, he lowers his eyes and looks down into the sink. He wonders if perhaps it's just the sight of the blood that is making it look so bad and putting in the plug and filling the sink with warm water, he slowly and carefully begins to washes his face arms and neck. Given he's come this far Murdoc then peels off his shirt dropping it to the floor and starts cleaning the blood from his chest. Finishing up he takes a deep breath and takes one more look in the mirror and finds he's no longer shocked by what he sees. It was all the blood that was truly shocking after all. Deciding it doesn't look that bad after all, and if anything it actually makes him look more masculine, he smiles and gives himself a cheeky wink. Then pulling the plug, draining the bloody water away, he wanders over to the toilet for a slash. Once finished in the bathroom, the boy wanders back to his room and straight over to the corner where he throws his dirty clothes. He searches through them till he finds a shirt that takes his fancy. He chooses a nice blue one, then heads back to the door with it still in his hand. As Murdoc steps from his room and turns to pull the door closed, he catches sight of the still fuming Hannibal heading in his direction. The older boy snarls at him as Murdoc shuts the door, and together they both move over to the top of the stairs.

"If I ever catch you in my room again, I swear you little fuck. I'll kill you!" Hannibal snarls, pushing his brother aside and against the wall, as he slams his way past him making his way down the stairs. Murdoc sighs and pulls on his shirt, moving the material carefully over his broken nose and still aching jaw. He looks down at the shirt, and gives it a quick sniff. Thinking about it for a moment, he shrugs to himself and shakes his head, not really caring about whether or not it smells. He carries on down the stairs, following after his brother. Although he is disappointed about being caught, Murdoc did expect it would happen eventually, and didn't feel he should complain much about it. Given he knew he had honestly pushed it too far and worse still, had dropped his guard. Not something he normally would of done. Except he'd allowed himself to become far too complacent about the whole thing. Still, he hadn't expected he would get a broken nose over it. He decides that this was a lesson that should never be forgotten, and is almost glad that Hannibal had given him the visual reminder, to never allow himself to become that complacent again. He looks up and watches his brother jump over the railing at the bottom of the stairs, then turns the corner heading in the direction of the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you." Murdoc replies gruffly, as he quickly follows his brother into the kitchen. He might of been grateful for Hannibal s lesson in complacency, but he wasn't not going to be annoyed about it. Hannibal walks through the room and past his father, who is sitting at the table with a large plate of bacon, eggs and toast. Dropping heavily down into his favourite chair in the corner. He stares angrily at the boy as his brother steps further into the room. Murdoc begins to wonder how long Hannibal is going to stay mad about this, and stares back at him, from under his long fringe. But Hannibal is no where near finished as far as he is concerned, and wonders if he can get his father on side about it. Jacob takes a large forkful of bacon and shoves it into his mouth, chewing loudly as he wipes bacon grease from his lips with the back of his hand. Unconcerned at his boys squabbling, he doesn't feel the need to interrupt his breakfast to even acknowledge their presence in the room. Without even a small look or grunt, he continues to munch loudly, turning the page on the magazine he is reading. It doesn't stop Hannibal from making the attempt though.

"Playin' that shit on my stuff. Why doncha listen to some decent music? Poofy shit?" Hannibal growls, folding his arms over his chest and angrily staring out the window into the back yard. He turns his eyes quickly in Jacobs direction, hoping to see if the old man would take up the cause and punish his little brother for touching his stuff. That would really put the boy in his place. He knew his dad had strict rules about touching his possessions. Maybe it would translate over to Hannibal s as well? After all, he was the eldest, and he had been paying rent longer than Murdoc. Surely that would mean he had to have some privileges by now? Jacob suddenly stops chewing and looks up. Hannibal s confidence grows as he watches the old man turn and look in his little brothers direction. 'Yes! Gottcha.' The older boy thinks, shooting a smug look at Murdoc as well. His confidence swells inside him, and he's sure he's about to win this round. But Jacob doesn't say anything. Instead he continues his gaze from Murdoc, across the room, and back over to Hannibal in his little corner. The old man slits his eyes and looks the older boy up and down, almost in disgust. Hannibal suddenly gets that sinking feeling and his smug look falls away.

"Poofy shit? You think you can say that to him, when ya come home with ya hair lookin' the way it does. Yer more of a pansy than he is. You great grumblin' queer!" Jacob snarls at Hannibal, before shaking his head and looking back down to his breakfast. The old man takes another forkful of food and shovels it into his mouth. Murdoc stifles a laugh by coughing into his hand, and sits down beside the old man. For a moment Jacob snaps a look towards him, but then quietly shrugs and settles down again, grabbing a slice of toast and handing it to the boy. Hannibal looks from one to the other with shock. Jacob not only had taken Murdoc s side, he even let him sit down next to him. 'And is feeding him!?' That was almost completely unexpected, and sadly it answered him about privileges. Once again it seemed that Murdoc had won his fathers favor. Hannibal has become increasingly tired with how easily it seems Murdoc is able to do that. It's almost as if the boy has some kind of control over the old man. Murdoc this, and Murdoc that. He did more for the old man than his brother. Why wasn't Jacob ever proud of him? He clenches his jaw and makes one last attempt to grab at his fathers attention.

"I ain' a poof! He is!" The older boy protests, pointing at his brother. Jacob laughs at him and puts down his fork. He points at his packet of cigarettes and waits, as Murdoc reaches out and lights one up for the old man. Handing it back to him, he settles back in his chair and sneers over at his brother. Jacob is really just not interested in the boys squabbles. And Hannibal it seems, is failing to understand that. As far as he was concerned, so long as it wasn't his things that were involved, they could argue all they liked. The only thing that interested him about them, was when they were going to give him money. He puffs on his cigarette and looks at the boy in the corner, who is angrily glaring at the boy at his side. Hannibal was now a skin head. Bald and covered from head to foot in Nazi regalia. Did he really want to have that in his house? He shrugs and decides that so long as he got paid, he didn't care.

"Rubbish! Murdoc is ten times the man you are. Ya prissy little pansy. I don' see him comin' home his hair all.... Only women do that queer shit to their hair all the time. Anyone would think ya don' 'ave balls. You do 'ave balls doncha?" Jacob hisses back. Murdoc clenches his jaw hard, trying desperately not to burst out laughing. Hannibal gets up and slams his way out of the kitchen and house, not wanting to listen to any more of the old mans insults. Jacob watches him go before turning back to Murdoc and sighing. "I guess we can take that as a no then hey?" he smiles. Hannibal s lack of response to his question, making him feel glad the boy had handed him the opportunity to add that last final insult. Murdoc shrugs and watches for a cue from his dad. Knowing that if he laughed at the wrong moment or at all, and Jacob was not in a playful enough mood, he was going to get a smack in the head. He already had a headache, so he waits for the old mans reaction. He catches the gleam in his fathers eye, and can see that this time it was OK to laugh at Hannibal s expense, as it slowly becomes obvious that Jacob is certainly about to. The boy lets out a small chuckle, as Jacob slowly does the same. Murdoc wriggles a little in his seat and decides to try and make the mood a little lighter. He had made his dad laugh loudly a few times before, and wonders if this was a moment he could do that again? He leans forwards and gently nudges the old mans arm.

"Maybe that was the price he paid fer that last Haircut?" Murdoc jokes, and carefully watches Jacob. The old man takes a swig from his beer and gives him an odd look, furrowing his brow and slightly tipping his head to his chest, not quite sure of the suggestion the boy was making. "Well, the haircut before then must'a cost an arm and a leg...?" Murdoc tentatively presses the point the same way you would check the ice on a pond, before attempting to walk across. Jacob catches Murdoc s point, and almost sprays him with beer as he bursts out laughing. Murdoc breathes out a sigh of relief and joins him. It's good when he and the old man see eye to eye. He just wishes it would happened much more often.


	11. Chapter 11

Exam time is slowly creeping closer and closer. Not that Murdoc really cares. He approaches it with the same amount of zeal, that he has always shown his schooling. In other words? Yawn. He spends most of the morning, memorizing a few base facts and key points. And the rest of the day down at the local church. Spray painting a rather artistic looking penis on the wall, before creeping inside to urinate in the font. Having felt he has accomplished much for the day, he does up his fly and happily heads off to see if he can find one or two of his friends to annoy. They have noticed a distinct change in him, and some of them have found this new Murdoc far too intimidating for their liking, tending to make themselves as scarce as possible as soon as he appears on their radar. Murdoc has barely even noticed. He's far too wrapped up in himself to do, or think anything that doesn't directly involve him. His friends were more of a distraction for him anyway. A way to stop the day from becoming too dull to want to exist in. Nothing more. He really only tended to call them friends because he couldn't think of another word to describe them. 'Friends? Is that what they are?' He shrugs and crosses the road, making his way past a small canal. Much more confident and cocky now. He exuded his personality like a smug dark cloud of smog. The air around him thick, and choking with the idea that he was always right. That nothing could ever possibly be either his fault, or go wrong. Not if it came directly from him anyway. Mistakes were something other people made. He was perfect! Just up ahead he sees a young boy fishing in the canal and smiles evilly. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he continues walking along, looking around to see if anyone else was in the area watching. As soon as he's close enough, he elbows the boy in the back, making him topple almost head first into the water. The boy stands up, dripping wet and still holding his fishing rod. Murdoc continues walking along, ignoring the boys angry protests and smiling cruelly to himself.

He makes his way slowly up the street towards Peters house. Passing by a small stone wall that has been kicked down repeatedly by people like himself so often, that the owners gave up repairing it. It was probably better left it as it is. He sees one of the bricks is just hanging loose in the wall and can't resist adding to the destruction, kicking it out as he passes. Not that the owner would care anymore really. Continuing up the path and down the street, finally arriving at Peters house. He opens the gate and makes his way up the stairs. Only stopping for a moment to run his fingers through his hair, before knocking loudly on the door. He steps back and turns his attention back to the street, humming to himself as he waits for a reply. After a short while the door opens and the young boy turns to see Peters mum standing there. Murdoc had always found her attractive, and his eyes light up at the sight of her slim figure.

"Well Hellooo." He purrs with a devilish grin. "Is Peter around?" The woman rests her weight on the door handle and sighs in quiet frustration. She'd never really liked the way Murdoc looked at her, and found his constant bottom pinching and suggestive grin, to be more than a little disturbing. Not to mention that he always left the house messy. And she was sure he'd stolen quite a few things. She smiles politely regardless, and shakes her head. This boy was not someone she felt her son should of gotten involved with in the first place. From the moment she met him, she knew Peter would be lead into all sorts of trouble. Now it seemed Peter himself had recognized it, and was seeing the boy less and less.

"He's gone out. Sorry." She replies curtly and steps back from the door, slowly closing it. Murdocs face drops a little and he steps forwards, holding out his hand to try and stop the door closing. He did consider Peter to be a bit more of what you'd call a friend than the others, and this was one of the reasons why he'd chose to come to him first. Although he was sure he didn't need friends, having no one to share things with, didn't feel like a good idea. He often felt a little lonely at times, given there was no one at home he could really talk to. Peter had always seemed eager to hear his stories and have a laugh with him.

"Oh. Umm? Well when will he be back then?" He stammers a little, suddenly not as happy as he was a few minutes ago. The woman looks behind her for a moment, before turning back and looking at the strange boy on her step. She sighs deeply and shrugs, then attempts to close the door again, Murdoc steps forwards and puts his hand gently on the door, stopping her. He'd suddenly got this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that she wasn't being entirely truthful. "Later today maybe?" She steps back further and shrugs again, finally shutting the door on him. The young boy stands there feeling a little deflated. He plunges his hands in his jacket pockets, and slowly turns from the door. He sighs as he steps down and walks back to the gate, reaching out and pushing it open. He turns to close it and looks up at the front of the house where Peters bedroom window is, and sees the boy for a second looking down at him, just before the curtain closes again. Murdoc freezes and stares at the window. Then shoots a confused look at the door. She was lying! But why? He looks back up at the window and tips his head slightly trying to work it out. Maybe he wasn't allowed out? But then, she would've said that. He shuts the gate and slowly begins walking back up the street. Maybe he's just not allowed out with him? He raises his shoulders to his ears and chews on the collar of his T-shirt. It doesn't matter. He didn't need Peter anyway. He didn't need anybody. He crosses the road and heads down the footpath, kicking a small child in the back of the leg as he passes him, making the child call out in pain and burst into tears. He grumbles silently to himself, and decides to just go home instead.

The next day. Murdoc is laying on a small rug in the middle of his bedroom floor, writing a song in a small note book he'd bought. He had several of the books now, and had filled almost all of them with songs, ideas for songs, and even a few pieces of music that popped into his head from time to time. He'd come to the conclusion he was going to be a rock-star, and the leader of the biggest and best band the world had ever seen. Getting ahead and writing the songs and music now, would be a brilliant start. It should solve some of the time factor, so that he could just sit back and play with the fan girls that would surely clamour for him. Sitting in a cramped studio, trying to work out what to write about and record next, sounded really boring. This way he could just do whatever he wanted. He finishes a line and picks up the cigarette that's been burning away in the ashtray next to him. He draws on it and thinks a moment. Fan girls. Lots and lots of lovely, star struck fan girls. All of them standing around the front of the stage, screaming for him and tossing their knickers at his feet. He closes his eyes and sighs at the image of them in his head. Now that was a good reason to get into the industry, if ever there was one. 'Who wouldn't want that? A stone perhaps? Or maybe a ....?' He hears a noise behind him and looks around. Hannibal s frame fills the open doorway.

"You got a fag? I run out." The boy grunts, walking into the room and sitting on his brothers bed. Murdoc raises an eyebrow, but shrugs it off and picks up the pack, sliding one out and tossing it at him. Hannibal catches it and lays back on the bed, lifting his foot and resting on the large chest at the end. He holds the cigarette in his fingers and stares blankly at the ceiling. Murdoc lays on his side watching a moment, not sure why the boy is just laying there. He thinks maybe he should ask, but then decides if his brother wanted him to know, he would of said something by now. So he rolls back onto his stomach and continues to write. "Whacha doin' over there?" Murdoc stops and looks over his shoulder at the boy on the bed, still sliding the unlit cigarette between his fingers.

"Eh? Nuthin' that'd make yer dick hard. Why?" Murdoc mumbles in response. Hannibal lifts his head enough to look back at his younger brother, before letting it drop heavily back again. He lifts his other leg and crosses his ankles, making himself more comfortable. Finally reaching into his pocket and pulling out his lighter. Murdoc watches him closely as the older boy lights up, then slides his lighter back in his pocket. Something was bothering his brother, obviously. He could definitely see that. But given that the older boy still hadn't explained why, the young man feels he should leave it until Hannibal decides whether to tell him or not. The last thing he needed at this second, was his brother all hot and bothered at him.

"Oh." Is all Hannibal replies back with, then puffs on his cigarette and continues staring at the ceiling. Murdoc watches him a little longer, before turning back to his note book and continuing to write. After a while, Hannibal finishes the cigarette and slides from the bed. He approaches his little brother on the floor and leans down, butting out in the ashtray, before turning and walking quietly from the room. The young boy watches him go and furrows his brow. 'That was really odd?' He shakes his head and turns back to his note book. No longer interested in his brothers weird mood swings and determined to finish the song he was writing. In truth, Hannibal had been slinking around the house like a sad ghost for days. This was just the first time that Murdoc had even noticed. So wrapped up in himself, he had paid very little attention to the things that had happened around him, so he had no idea that Hannibal had broken up with his girlfriend and was looking for a little sympathy. Just a little. Even if from the younger brother he despised so much.

Murdoc is standing out the front of his house, holding a large yellow envelope in his hands. He's finally gotten back his results from the exams. But he isn't really that interested though. He knows if anything he had got one qualification. And that was in the only class he'd ever paid enough attention in, to know what it was about. Anti-Social Anthropology. He opens the big yellow envelope and reads the results. sure enough he'd passed it. Everything else he'd just managed to scrape through. He shrugs and wanders back inside, closing the front door with his foot as he heads to the stairs. Taking the results to his room, he drops them on the chest at the end of his bed, and wanders over to the wardrobe. Picking out a nice shirt, he slides it on and runs his fingers through his hair, before walking back out and heading to the front door. He'd made some new friends and they had gotten him interested in new things. Pills and pot. Not so much pot, he'd found that a little bland for his taste, but it had lead him onto other drugs and now the boy was out all night, running around with these people. Going to parties, getting high and drunk. Sex with strangers and not sleeping for days. Sometimes he'd take so much, he'd be buzzing for weeks until his body finally gave out and he crashed. He'd woke up in peoples homes, and have no idea who they were. Some would say that this was not the right sort of thing for a sixteen year old boy to do. But he would be turning seventeen soon, and he didn't see any harm in it. His friends honestly believed he was much older, given the way he behaved, so they'd never seen fit to question him. They were usually too high to notice anyway. He shrugs and stands on the side of the road, waiting for his friends to drive by and pick him up. 'A Baccalaureate in Anti-Social Anthropology. Eh? Interesting nonetheless.' The note on the back page was a recommendation for him to bow out of school altogether, as he just didn't have enough to take him any further. Best part about the stupid report as far as the boy was concerned. 'Took 'em long enough to admit they had nothing fer me.' He looks down at his new boots. A wonderfully chunky pair of Cuban Heels. They made him feel powerful and strong. Not to mention added a little height to his stature. Rubbing the toe on the back of his shin, he looks down at it again and smiles. Lovely. The only pity in not going to school was now he'd have to get a job. His dad wouldn't allow him to stay in the house otherwise. He looks up the road and sees his friends car come round the corner, smiling he steps forwards and smiles.

"Eh! who cares. I'll look fer a job tomorrow. There's always tomorrow." He mutters to himself as his friends pull in beside him. He opens the door and jumps in the car, smiling at his new gang as the driver pulls out and speeds off down the road. He felt he had much more in relation with these people anyway. Vampire movies and music. A deliciously dark style that made him feel comfortable. Not to mention they were all musical, just like him. He did think about that part a lot. Maybe he should tell them about his idea for a band? He jokes along and laughs with them as they head for a friend of a friends place, for yet another all night party. More drugs and booze. Deciding to leave it for a little while longer, at least till he can get some much needed cash into his pocket, he sits back in his seat and forgets about it. There's always tomorrow.

Murdoc wakes up the next morning and looks around. His eyes adjust and he realizes he's in a room he doesn't recognize. He sits up on his elbows and blinks a little. Suddenly he hears a low moan and notices there is a naked girl wrapped around him. Interesting! He wracks his brain trying to remember, but only a few fuzzy details slip into place before fading out again. He shrugs and slides himself out from under the still unconscious girl, tiptoeing around the bed and quickly dressing. No tearful goodbyes for him he thinks, as he picks up his Cubans and heads for the door. He suddenly notices the girls purse laying on the floor by a small table, and looks back at the girl in the bed. He smiles deviously and heads straight for it, picking it up and tiptoeing back to the door. 'That should add some much needed cash to the situation. Heh, heh.' He smiles to himself as he opens the door and silently slides out. Walking quickly down the corridor, it occurs to him he's in a cheap hotel, not bothered by this he makes his way down the hall till he sees an elevator, and presses the button. Dropping a few things on the floor, he continues to dress quickly, while waiting for it to arrive. He's almost done when it does, and grabbing his boot, jumps in and looks at the buttons on the panel. Judging from the small amount of them, it seems to be a small hotel and he presses the button for the ground floor. He slides on his boots and slips the girls purse into his jacket pocket. The elevator arrives at the ground floor and Murdoc steps out, making his way through the lobby and into the street. He checks the name on the front of the building but doesn't recognize it. 'Oh well. I guess I'm lost again. Heh, heh.' He chuckles into his chest and flags down a taxi. He climbs in and gives the driver his address, then settles back and slides the purse from his jacket. Checking the contents, he's rather pleased with the result, and drops the unnecessary pieces on the floor. He'd done this a couple of times before and found it rather lucrative. So he didn't see any real harm in it. Not for himself anyway.

The next morning, after spending most of the day before sleeping off the affects of two nights of straight partying. He found himself sitting in the kitchen, staring blankly ahead. He shakes off the daze, and gets back to doing something more important. Murdoc is circling job advertisements in the paper. He only needed a part time one really. He certainly didn't want anything that would cut too deeply into his lifestyle. Just something to bring in cash, and wasn't too difficult to do. He chews on the pen, breaking off a piece of the plastic and chewing it, before spitting it out across the room. He sees an ad for a grave digger and his eyes light up. Perfect! Now that sounds like a cool job. Standing around a cemetery surrounded by dead people, and occasionally burying them. He circles the ad and tossing the pen down on the table, grabs his jacket and the newspaper. Sliding on his jacket as he steps outside, he shudders a little in the cold air, then heads up the street to the phone box on the corner. After talking to the person on the phone for about fifteen minutes, he steps out of the box jubilant. He'd got himself an interview that afternoon. All he needed to do now was grab a quick bite, then make his way to the local cemetery. As far as he was concerned, he already had the job. Easy. No one could resist the Murdoc charm. No one. Smiling to himself, he heads back home with a smile on his face, and even a bit of a skip in his step. Nothing could bring him down now.


	12. Chapter 12

It doesn't take long before Murdoc begins to find his job as a grave digger. Really, really boring. Although he does turn up. Often he is either drunk, or late, or both. Even then he tends to disappear for hours and when he is finally found, he's stoned and talking very rapidly. Often about things that just don't make a whole lot of sense. His movements a jittery blur, and his speech a garble of words. He'd developed a very distinct stutter and stammer. And he seemed to constantly draw out his words. Amost as if he was unsure he was using the right ones. Occasionally he'd be talking to someone, and the middle of either the word or sentence, he would be interrupted by this strange odd tic. Squinting and rapidly pulling his head to his shoulder, as if a hand had grabbed hold of his spine, and was trying to remove it from the middle of his back. It was distracting to watch. And several times his boss had been forced to send him home. Apparently the way he'd behaved was so disturbing, a few visitors to the cemetery who had seen him, had asked if the boy was possessed. One man suggested that he was possessed, and high. And had demanded the boss get him exorcised immediately, then fire him. Luckily the boss had simply smiled and just sent the boy home for the day, telling the man he'd do that. One one particular occasion, Murdoc had felt tired and crept off to take a quick nap in one of the crypts. He'd nearly been fired when a visitor to the crypt, had run screaming into the office. Rambling something about being chased by a zombie. The boss had made a point of introducing him to the lady. Explaining that even though he had strange colored skin and razor sharp teeth, not to mention his twitching and stuttering like a mad man, the boy was normal. Or at least somewhere in the vicinity of normal. Murdoc was most definitely alive and to his knowledge, not a zombie. The woman had still walked away frantically clutching her crucifix closely to her chest, and muttering a quick prayer. But somehow, Murdoc was always able to calm the boss down and keep his job. Not that the pay was extremely good. It was enough to scrape things together and keep his father happy, and his lifestyle going. However there were the odd occasions when he had to supplement his losses, by stealing from the dead, or picking the pockets of the visitors to the chapel. Either way he was keeping himself and things reasonably comfortable.

Now that he had a nice bit of cash flow going. Murdoc felt it was time to talk to his new gang about his ideas. They listened as he explained how he wanted to get into the music industry. And how he'd written quite a few songs already, then went into a certain amount of detail, about how he'd imagined it was all going to work. It didn't take him long to get them excited about the idea. Suddenly they to were talking excitedly about all being stars, and having the world at their feet. Murdoc sat quietly in the corner, arms folded over his chest watching and listening to them. His eyes shining brightly in the dim light of the pub they were sitting in. He'd have the world at his feet. They'd just be going along for the ride, was his thinking. But he could see things were moving his way, so he said nothing to upset the mood that was surrounding them all. A few days later, he and the still unnamed band were having a late night jam session in one of the members lounge rooms. Practicing a song that Murdoc had written. Him on the Bass and singing, with Goth styled Keyboards, and dark lyrics. Combined with Murdoc s deep croaky voice, the whole scene seemed very vampish, and almost close to a demonic version of Bowie s Ziggy Stardust. They finally come to the end of the song and smile. Nodding at one another convinced more that ever that this was going to bring them fame and fortune. And thus. Patchoulii Clark was born.

Being Lead Singer, Bass guitarist and Manager of the band. Murdoc quickly made the rounds of the local clubs and pubs. Getting them as many gigs as possible, was his number one priority. He knew that the key to success was recognition. And the more they could be seen, the better their chances would be of getting them noticed. So he'd spend a lot of time talking with the owners about how great the band was, and how it would be a shame if they missed out being the club or pub the band was discovered in. Convincing them it was as much in their interest as his, to have the band perform in their establishment. The owners, taken in by Murdoc s charm and wit, agree. And before long they have quite a few dates and venues under their belt. At first it seemed like an easy run to the top, given the amount of work they had already done. But it doesn't take long before Murdoc discovers the audiences were thinning out. And in some cases, just not showing up. Sometimes he found when there was an audience, they were for the most part ignoring him. Other times they were just downright hostile. Throwing things at the stage and booing him. At one venue a bottle was thrown, hitting the drummer in the head and knocking him out cold. Murdoc lost his temper, and immediately went home. Leaving the band to drive down to the hospital to be with the drummer, and make sure he was OK. It had put a dampener on things. But Murdoc was still convinced he can make it work. So he and the band pack up and move on to the next gig.

After yet another failed performance, Murdoc stands quietly on stage. Looking out at the almost empty room. The only occupants, apart from him and his band, are a few waiters and bar staff moving around the room. He watches them wiping down tables and taking away empty bottles, glasses and plates. Then takes a deep breath, holding it as he tips his head back on his shoulders, and gazes up at the spotlight overhead. The band members scurry around like ants behind him, packing up the gear and getting ready to move on yet again. He slowly lets the breath back out as he tips his head forward again, to look back at the empty room. Why wasn't this working? He'd thought about it for so long? He'd been working it all out for years? He'd studied even? He could easily get gigs. He'd proved that. His guitar work was perfect. The lyrics were great. The music was amazing. He knew, because he'd written it himself. So what was going wrong? Where were the fan girls, clamouring for him and screaming out his name? Where were the record companies, standing in the shadows with contract in hand, waiting to sign him up before someone else did? Why didn't these people see the obvious? One of the band approaches and tries to slide his black Bass from his hand. Murdoc suddenly snaps around viciously. Bringing his fist around and just missing connecting with the young mans face by mere centimetres. He leaps back holding up his hands in self defence.

"Easy Muds! I woz just gunna pack it away fer ya?" He explains, slowly backing up as Murdoc glares at him angrily. He turns away from the young man again, cradling the precious guitar even closer to him. His things were just not meant to be touched or handled by others. As far as he was concerned anyway. He'd always been very possessive of his things, given the house he grew up in. If anyone had known, it would not of been much of a surprise to them. If they'd known what he had to go through just to get anything. And the fact that he often came home and found that most of the time, his things were either gone or destroyed. Even when he hid them. Even though he had recently put a lock on his door, his paranoia still made him nervous about letting the most important things that he owned, out of his sight for too long. His drug addiction made that paranoia slide even higher up the scale, and well out of his control. He often felt people were plotting against him and planing things behind his back. 'Maybe that was it? Maybe that was why this just wasn't working? The band!' He shakes his head and calms himself. 'No. They want this as much as I do.' He thinks to himself, but still he slowly turns his head and watches them moving around in the shadows. Something was missing, and that was what was making this so hard. He'd just have to look a little deeper and figure out what it was.

Murdoc is laying on his bed. His ankles crossed, and his fingers interlaced behind his head like a pillow. He stares blankly at the wall ahead through the gap in his feet. Still not sure why his band hasn't brought him the fame he feels he deserves. He should of seen at least a small amount of interest by now? A whole year had passed, and still Patchoulii Clark hadn't had even the smallest bite from the industry. Music in the eighties was very commercial. Almost a bit too plastic for some peoples tastes. Big hair and pastels. Bubble gum and poppy rhythm. Dark and Gothy wasn't that high on the list of things, that the mainstream people were really looking for. But they weren't not looking for it either. There were a few darkish bands here and there, that had been picked up. True they weren't as dark as his, but still it showed him there was a small gap in the market. Some people had actually suggested the industry had lost it's way, and were just grabbing at the simple and easy stuff. The more commercial and marketable you were, the better the chance you had of being seen. Murdoc and his band? He slides his eyes along the wall and down to his Bass in the corner. They just didn't understand him yet. That had to be it. He was far too out there for them to realize how great he was. He slowly nods and slides his eyes back up the wall and across to his altar. A small light flickers to life in his mind, but it's still too small for him to pick up on what it is trying to tell him. He'd just have to keep at it in the hopes that they finally see him and give him what he wants. He slowly moves his eyes back to his Bass. His eyes moving down the neck of the guitar and along the curves, in the same way he'd looked at the shapes of the women he'd taken to bed. He smiles at the sight and slowly looks back at his altar. The light in his mind suddenly explodes to life. Roaring brightly and making him sit up quickly on the bed. 'WAIT! I'm a Satanist! Why don't I just have a talk with the pointy one down stairs?' He slides from the bed and walks over to his altar, rubbing his hands together and dropping to his knees before it. He smiles confidently and quickly sets to work, calling on the powers of Hell.

The next morning. A now revitalized Murdoc steps from his room, pulling the door closed behind him and locking it. His eyes shine with a eerie glow, as if lit from behind by some strange odd power. He'd been successful in his talks with Beelzebub, and had been told that he would be leader of the greatest band the world would ever see. But for this to happen, two things had to occur first. One was that Murdoc had to take possession of Satan s personal Bass guitar. The El Diablo. Which at this moment was sitting safely in Murdoc s wardrobe. He was told that he would receive world wide acclaim once he used it. The other thing was that he had to change his middle name, and thus clinch the deal. Alphonce to Faust? Not a problem as far as Murdoc was concerned. He'd never liked Alphonce anyway. He makes his way down the stairs and straight to the front door, stepping out and heading for the bus to take him into town. First. He'd get some breakfast. Then he was going to get himself a really nice shirt. Then he was going to the offices of Births, Deaths and Marriages and filling in a form. After that, it should just be a matter of time before the industry comes along and kicks down his door. He smiles smugly to himself as he steps on to the bus and makes his way to one of the seats. An hour later. Murdoc steps from the building after submitting his application forms. The power he now feels coursing through him is amazing. Almost like a whole new kind of drug he'd never tried before. He looks down at his hands, turning them over and making fists, then opening them again and flexing his fingers. He felt incredible. This was real power and he loved it. He'd never felt so alive before in his whole young life. Now with Hell behind him, he just knew he was ready. Things were definitely going to move along quicker now. With this behind them, there was no chance he'd fail.

Murdoc once again finds himself standing on stage, looking out over yet another empty room. A low growl makes it's way through the microphone, and out through the speakers. The bar staff look up and around the room, not quite sure where the noise is coming from. A few of them look around on the floor, thinking a large dog or something similar is out there in the dark, waiting to bite someone. But it's not a dog. That low growl is coming from an insanely furious Murdoc. He stands there shaking in pure rage. 'What the fuck?! Do I have to do? To get some fuckin' recognition round here!!!!?' His mind screams. He'd spent hours working things out. Years building himself up from a frightened little boy, desperately trying to escape his fathers continual beatings. Being humiliated day after day. Doing all that he could to survive in his own home. Feeling his hopes and dreams being pulled on, and spat on. Time and time again. Nearly giving up, but somehow finding the energy to stand up one more time and try again. Listening to people laughing at him and joking about him. Tearing him down again, and again. Just wanting desperately to show people. 'I'm here! Please! PLEASE! Look at me.? Let me show you what I can do? Let me have this one small moment? PLEASE! Don't leave me alone in the dark?' He feels the tears welling in his eyes, and bites his lip pressing them back. 'NEVER!' He'll never let these untalented, wastes of human skin make him cry. 'EVER!' Six whole months had passed and still he was singing to empty rooms. What the Hell was he missing? He slaps out at the microphone, sending it flying across the room and slamming into a chair, before coming to a rest under a table. The speakers scream with feedback, as though it was the microphone itself crying out in pain. A few people around him slap their hands over their ears and look angrily at him, while searching the floor for the missing microphone. Murdoc doesn't care. He jumps down from the stage and makes his way over to the bar.

Sitting himself down on a stool, he waves at the publican for service. Then drops his elbow onto the counter, dropping the side of his head into his palm. And picks at the cardboard coaster in front of him. 'Maybe they just don't have the right amount of taste for a voice like mine?' He thinks, flipping the coaster over and over in his fingers. The publican brings him a beer and moves away again to the other side of the bar. Murdoc eyes him lazily, as he slowly picks up the glass and brings it to his lips. 'Nah. They just need to stop being morons and start seeing things my way is all.' He convinces himself as he sculls his beer. A slightly drunk young woman who had been watching his performance on stage, makes her way over to him. She slides up next to him on another stool. And with a small hiccup, stares silently at him as he drinks his beer. He finishes his drink and turns his eyes to look at her. Eying her up and down quizzically for a moment, he's not quite sure what she is doing. It takes a few more seconds, before he sees the shining gleam in her eye. That makes him sit up straight on the stool. Throwing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. This was more like it. She smiles at him and runs a finger along his arm, leaning over and whispering something dirty in his ear. Murdoc feels a thrill of arousal move through his body, and he turns on the stool to face her. He orders her a small drink, and after a few minutes of witty chit-chat. Has her running her hands up and down his thighs. Pushing her cleavage towards him, and playing with her hair. Placing her hands on his chest, bringing her face close to his as if about to kiss him, trying to get his complete attention. Not that she really needed to. She already had it with that first look. But Murdoc is just savoring the moment, and keeping the girl in suspense. His sexual repertoire was not something to be just simply slapped out at random. It was something to be desired, anticipated and craved for. Eventually after blowing in her ear a few times, and running his hand up her skirt. He gets up from the stool, slapping some money down on the counter. And finally taking the drunk girl by the wrist, he walks with her from the pub and out into the street. Hailing a taxi and shooting her a cheeky grin. A large black cab pulls into the curb and he bundles her quickly inside. Pinching her on the bottom and making her giggle. Then he tells the driver where they wish to go. And before she can change her mind, Murdoc speeds her away to a cheap hotel for a bit of the old Niccals Cha, cha, cha. After all. He'd earned it, hadn't he?


	13. Chapter 13

Murdoc finally makes the decision that what is wrong with the band is not him. It's them. They are what's holding back his success. And no matter what he does, or how good he may be. With them he's never going to have the world fall at his feet. So he breaks up the band and starts concentrating on getting to work on time instead. Still working in the cemetery, he does manage to stick to a morning routine. For a short time anyway. But quickly he once again starts heading back down into a drug fuelled slump, and finds himself back in trouble. One day as he was sitting on one of the larger graves, eating some strange concoction he had hastily whipped up before his dad got up and shouted at him. For "eating his food!" He meets a young man who surprisingly recognised him from Patchoulii. This had made Muds prick up his ears proudly. See? He was right after all. It wasn't him, it was the band. The boy talks to him for a while, and slowly peaks Murdoc s interest in trying again with another band. Three months had passed, and now nineteen, Murdoc had been getting around town in a Ford Falcon he'd picked up cheap in a used car lot. After of course charming the salesman with some ribald jokes and witty banter. The man had practically given the car to Murdoc for nothing. This Murdoc felt had meant that getting to gigs on time, would be a breeze. Not to mention carting their gear. They'd had to steal vans before and dump them, after setting fire to them to get rid of any evidence. Now perhaps he'd be a little better set up, and not have to worry so much. He agrees to meet the boy and his friends after work and see what he thought.

Murdoc finds himself sitting in a very nice lounge room, on the better side of town. Looking around he's taken by how much the boys parents had. 'Obviously quite well off'. He takes mental note of a few things he can pocket on the way out, then turns his attention back to listening to one of the boys friends playing a guitar. Not bad. He was better of course. Deciding he had enough here to work with. He shrugs and gives the nod to the deal. Murdoc had already made the decision as to how this new band would sound. Moving into a more Rock/Metal scene, with it's heavy guitars, and away from the Vampish Goth with it's dark keyboards. Maybe if he moves into a direction people would recognise? Not all the way of course, he had to give it his own twist. Otherwise he'd just sound too conformist, and none of the personality would shine out. That's what separates one band from another. It's not necessarily the music. It's the personality and style of the band, that catches peoples attention really. At least that's what he's found. The band has to stand out at the audience. Make them want to step forwards and really want to see more. Just like a painting. Foreground, middle ground, background. Each part has it's own set of rules. In the foreground is what the audience sees. How the band presents itself to you? Be it clothes or stage sets. Then the middle ground, this is where the music and sound comes in. How each set of songs is put together and how they are presented to the audience? No sense in having the songs come together as a bunch of words and some notes on a page. Each song has to pull together with the next in some way. Not just be there for the sake of being there. You want the audience to feel as though they need to step forwards and take a closer look. Then the back ground. One more big step forwards for the audience. Now they are looking at you. Who are you in all this? Your personality and how you, as a whole, present yourself to them? Through all the other pieces, you have to shine through as well. And complete the picture. And although it's hazy and hard to see any true details, it has to be enough for the audience to want to step forwards and try to see. That's where you have them. Now they want to know you. By the time the week is over. Murdoc has taken this rag tag group of youths, with fantasies of being huge rock-stars, and whipped them into shape. Kiss'n'Make up is born.

Murdoc has now moved even deeper into mainstream Satanism. Dabbling more and more in spells and darker forces. Building up his powers and abilities. He finally feels ready to take the final step and make it official. Contacting the local Black Church, and asking how to become a member. An entry fee? Actually, that did make a whole lot of sense to him, after he thought about it for a while. But the fee was out of his pocket. For now. Finances. He still wasn't satisfied there. And it looked like he had yet another reason to search around for a way to pad his pockets. One night, as he was standing outside a club lighting up a cigarette, a car pulled up in front of him and the driver called him over. Murdoc looks around not sure if the driver meant him, but walked over and leaned in the open window. 'Maybe this idiot was lost?' After a few seconds, it becomes obvious to Murdoc the man wasn't lost. He'd mistaken the young man for a male prostitute. Extremely enraged at the mere suggestion Murdoc was gay. He stands up and is about to rip the door from the hinges, and drag the man out into the middle of the street for a good kicking. When the driver tells him he's more than willing to pay up to one hundred pounds for oral sex. Murdoc freezes and calms down instantly, running the figure through his head over and over. One hundred pounds? Just to blow the guys meat trumpet? That's a pretty fair amount actually. He looks around at the almost empty street, and decides to take the guy up on it. It was money and he needed it. Besides, it's not like anyone's ever going to find out.

A few weeks later, with Kiss'n'Makeup making a slightly better impression on the audience. Ever so slightly mind you. Murdoc is in his room doing push ups and popping a large variety of pills. When Hannibal comes in and sits on the end of his bed. Murdoc had become tired of looking at his scrawny body. His arms had built up a bit from all the Bass playing he had been doing. But he was sure he could look better and improve his overall stage presence. That would make much more of an impression on the girls. Hannibal watches him for a while, before becoming tired of waiting for his brother to acknowledge his presence in the room. He picks up a shoe from near his feet, tossing it at the young mans head.

"Oi!" He calls out to Murdoc. The young man stops and rubs his head where the shoe hit him, picking it up and throwing it back at his brother. Not hard mind you. The last thing he needed was to start another fight with the older boy. Hannibal slaps the shoe away, and sneers at his little brother. The young man fires back an angry look, turning himself round to face him. Hannibal had noticed the distinct change in his brothers attitude. Some of it he had to admit he found interesting. The rest of it was just down right annoying. But deep down inside, Hannibal knew he would always be the same old Murdoc to him. An annoying little brother that he still on occasions liked to beat up. But not today. Today was different, and he needed his brothers help. He smiles at his brothers pain and indignation, but it isn't anywhere near enough to mask how he really feels.

"I've lost me bloody place now ya prick!" Murdoc snarls back, sitting back and crossing his legs. He leans over and slides a cigarette from the packet on the floor next to him, and wipes a bead of sweat from the side of his face. Hannibal shrugs at the boy, not really caring. Then puts his hand out, waiting for his little brother to share. The young man looks at the hand indignantly, pursing his lips and getting ready to say something rude. But changes his mind and takes one out for his brother, tossing it carelessly at him. Thinking the quicker Hannibal tells him what he wants to tell him, the quicker he can get him out of his room and go back to what was more important. Namely himself. He stares at the top of his brothers bald head, as the older boy slides the cigarette through his fingers. Becoming more and more impatient with each passing second. He calms himself and waits. What more could he do really? If he makes an issue of it, Hannibal will get upset and start fighting with him. That would then take up more of his precious time and in the end, neither one of them would have what they want. The whole thing would just be brought up as yet another unresolved argument. Waste of time.

"I need some money." Hannibal mutters, lighting up the cigarette and sitting back further on the bed. Murdoc s mouth drops open in shock. He drops back onto his elbows, stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing the ankles. He knew Hannibal knew better. 'Never borrow what you can steal'. A golden rule Jacob had taught them years ago. 'Never put yourself in a position where you owe someone something. Otherwise ya might find yourself paying out for the rest of your life'. So what did Hannibal think he was doing asking him for a loan? He thinks about it for a while and decides he doesn't want to give him his money anyway. What he'd had to do to get it in the first place was bad enough. He thinks about it for a little while and shudders. 'I'm not gay.'

"Fuck you! Go git a job!" He snaps back, trying to put the images of those dirty men from his mind. Hannibal looks up sharply, his face a mask of anger for a moment. But it softens again and leaning forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. He gazes down at his brother there on the floor and sighs deeply. Murdoc didn't understand. He owed the money to some people. And not very nice people at that. If he didn't give them the money by tomorrow afternoon, he was going to die. He looks back up at his brother and shrugs his shoulders. If he told him, maybe he'd understand and want to help? He looks into Murdoc s oddly shining eyes. Nah! He wouldn't. If anything Murdoc would probably hold it against him. Then he'd really be in trouble. He drops his look back to the floor.

"It ain' gunna help me now. I need it today. Besides, I had a job. I lost it." He shrugs at him and draws on his cigarette deeply. He blows the smoke from the corner of his mouth, and looks around his feet on the floor. Almost hoping to find something to distract his mood for a while. Seeing a magazine poking out from under the bed, he turns his head slightly to try and read it. "I only need Three hundred? Go on? I'll let ya have summink from me room in exchange?" He offers, as he reaches down to take the magazine out, and read it properly. Murdoc looks up and spots what his brother is looking at on the floor. His eyes widen in fear and he practically leaps on the boy from where he is. Grabbing his older brothers wrist as it comes down on the pages. Stopping Hannibal in his tracks. His brother looks sharply up at him in shock at Murdoc s quick movement. But at first doesn't pull from his brothers grip. He just stares at him trying to make sense of it. Slowly he pulls his hand away and sits back on the bed.

"Err? R.?" Murdoc stammers at his brother, slapping the magazine further under the bed to hide it. He stands up, lifting his brother by his arm from the bed, and pulling him towards the door. Hannibal stares at him dumbfounded. "W.W.? Heh, heh. LLLLLets go take a look then shall we? I might just see summink I like then."Murdoc continues, then pushes his brother from the room and presses him down towards his own room, while looking back towards his bed nervously. Hannibal creases his forehead walking stiffly ahead of his nervous brother. 'What the Hell was that all about?' He wonders, opening his door and walking in. He shakes his head and waves it off. At least he was going to get his money, so maybe he should just leave his brothers weirdness alone for now. And just concentrate on the problems he already has.

Murdoc turns up late for work again. Three days late this time. The boss has finally had enough. He calls the boy into his office and sits him down. Murdoc tries everything he can to change the bosses mind about firing him. But this time it's just not working, the old man just isn't listening any more. He holds out the young mans severance pay, and tells him to just go home. The Murdoc looks up enraged, and snatches the envelope from the old mans hand, shoving it deeply into his pocket and standing up. After screaming a few foul words and insults, he storms out. Slamming the door so hard the little glass window in it shatters. Murdoc storms his way through the cemetery, kicking over a few old headstones on his way to the car park. He makes his way over to his car and punches the drivers side door. Then tearing it open, he jumps in and starts the car. Gunning the engine and tearing out of the space, then screeching the wheels and speeding off down the road. 'Fired'!? He'd finally found himself in a comfortable financial position. Now that he was occasionally prostituting himself out to dirty old men. 'And this moron has just wreaked that completely'. He didn't like being a male prostitute. The idea repulsed him. But he found if he got really high, he didn't even notice. Now what was he going to do? He wasn't doing it full time. 'That's for sure'!

He tears along the road weaving dangerously in and out of the traffic. A red haze stinging the corners of his eyes and blurring his vision. Just up ahead he sees the sports field, and swerves the car round into the parking lot. Screeching to a halt in one of the empty spaces. Shutting off the engine and laying his arms and head on the steering wheel, he tries to regain his composure. He was fucked! Literally! He sighs and lays back on the seat, staring at the roof of the car. Trying to work out another way of fixing this. One of the things that bothered him the most was pretty boys. He'd serviced a couple, and oddly had found he enjoyed them far more than the dirty old ones. They disgusted him. He constantly told himself over and over. 'I'm not gay! I'm just using them for money. I'm not gay'! Sometimes he said it so often he'd really begin to believe it. And that would be the moment he'd see a pretty boy and become aroused. 'Why? I'm just not gay'! Maybe it was because they reminded him so much of girls? Pretty girls! 'That's what it had to be. Of course I'm not gay'! He smiles and looks up just in time to see a very pretty young man approach the toilet block just ahead of him. Instantly he becomes aroused and shudders in his seat. The young man looks around nervously and crouches down as if tying his shoe lace. Murdoc watches him through the windscreen of the car, but not able to see clearly, he presses open the door and climbs out for a better look. The young man hears a car door shut and looks up, spotting him. He stands and smiles, heading into the toilets. Murdoc steps forwards and stops, watching the young man closely. The boy turns just inside the door way and signals for him to follow, then continues on inside. Looking around him to see if anyone is watching. He presses his hands into his pockets and quickly makes his way over. "I'm not gay. I'm just.....? Really, really frustrated right now. That's all." He tells himself and steps into the small building to find the young man.

Back to thieving and selling off the goods for profit, down the local second hand dealers and pawn shops. Murdoc quickly finds himself back in trouble with the police. They almost knew him personally by now, and sometimes would come straight to him, if the crime they were investigating looked even a little like the young mans handy work. He'd always have a friend bail him out the next morning so Murdoc wasn't too bothered about it. He scours the newspapers as soon as he gets them, looking for any part time job that didn't involve too much hard work. More and more the prostitution was beginning to get to him. He felt as though he was going mad. He had to stop. But at the moment, it was the only thing apart from the gigs with Kiss'n'Makeup that were bringing any money his way. His drug habit was slowly spiralling out of control, and was the biggest consumer of his profit. He'd started selling off his things to keep on top of it all. Not concerned with it really. So long as he had his hit, he could almost handle everything really. The band wasn't working out. He knew that. Something about it kept scratching at the back of his mind. He'd studied every performance carefully. Submerging himself in every detail, and trying to work out what was that thing about the performances that was just not making it perfect. If he could find it and force it into submission, then he knew it would all fall into place. All this other shit wouldn't bother him then. He could let it all go and just concentrate on his band. Money wouldn't be a problem then. He sits quietly in the jail cell, watching the door and waiting for his friend to arrive with the bail money. At least he wasn't in here on prostitution charges, he smiles. They might think they know him. But they don't know half of it. He chuckles and the officer opens the door calling his name. Murdoc stands up and walks out of the cell. Ahhh Freedom. The sweet smell of freedom. That was the one thing about this he liked. The British Justice System might be able to hold him for a while. But they'd never put him in a position he couldn't find a way out of. He was far better than that.


	14. Chapter 14

By the end of the year, Murdoc has disbanded Kiss'n'Makeup. It just wasn't working, and he didn't see why he should continue trying to beat what he considered to be, a dead horse. May as well just put it out of his misery and move on. But he did learn a lot from the experience. So in his mind it wasn't a total loss. Better luck next time. He still hadn't worked out what that one little niggling detail he was sure, given enough time and accumulated experience, it'd come to him. It had to. He'd worked far too hard on this to let it go so easily. He'd solved his money problems, by getting himself a job in Telesales. And with his ability to talk people into almost anything, was doing really, really well to. But this wasn't what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Sitting in an office, selling people things they don't need over the phone. Even if he was good at it. So every opportunity he got, he worked on another way to get a real band together. Eventually he just had to come across the right mix, and solve all his problems at once. The only good thing about the job. Was that it took him away from prostitution. That certainly did make him happier. His brother had made a few off the cuff remarks that sent chills of fear down his spine. Hannibal despised gay men, and had told him that he and his band of skin head friends, had beaten a few gay men up with baseball bats and lead pipes. Murdoc cringed at the thought of his brother walking down an alley one night, and catching him in a compromising position with another man. Hannibal hated him enough already. 'If he ever caught me, he'd kill me. No doubt about it.' He shudders and reminds himself for the hundredth time that day. 'I'm not gay!' Then dials another number from his list.

Murdoc eventually gathered together another group of people. One more try at getting a band together, for the growing list. Who knows? Maybe this time he'll pull it off? He sits back on the lounge and watches a potential guitarist. Who was going through the motions trying hard to impress him. Murdoc nods at the guy as he finishes, and adds his name to the list in front of him. Enough with the guitarists. Now he turns his attention to looking for a drummer. He's already got a name for the new band in mind this time. And it fits perfectly with the image he wants to put out. Muscular men in tight pants. Bullworker. No woman could possibly resist. Once the band is gathered. Murdoc runs them through the motions, whipping them into tight shape and making sure they understand how all of this is going to work. In other words, his way or else. He grabs hold of some very pretty girls, and puts them all in tiny mini skirts. Paying them to hand out leaflets, and inviting people to come to the show and see the band perform. This time the band does get a fair amount of attention. And it's also becoming more and more obvious that Murdoc is indeed learning. He certainly has what it takes to draw the crowds in. It's keeping them there and having them come back, that was his problem. That nagging detail is still there. Damn! But at least this time he has a small audience. For now that'll do him just fine.

His musical tastes have moved into many varying areas. But Murdoc is not the sort of person, who just likes a song because it has a catchy tune. Or because the lyrics are interesting. Murdoc really, really listens. He singles out each individual instrument in his mind. Taking note of how it interacts with the instruments around it. Concentrating on the whole structure of the song, by slowly pulling it apart instrument by instrument, till only the song itself is left. Then slowly putting it back together again. He's still learning. Soaking it all up like a sponge, and adopting similar techniques to artists that impress him. Taking the parts that work, and putting them together in a way that suits his needs and tastes. And for the audience, it did show. They were often heard commenting about how great the song was. Pity the singer has such a crap voice. 'WHAT!? How dare they?' His voice was unique. An acquired taste for people who actually had some idea what talent was. Morons. He wasn't doing it for them anyway. What he needed was for people who really understood all this, to finally bother to 'TURN UP!' He scoured the room every performance. Hoping to catch a glimpse of a record producer, hiding somewhere in the shadows. But after each show, there was still no sign of them. Yet!

Once again his drug habit began to take over his finances, and he was back to stealing anything that wasn't nailed down. He'd occasionally found himself thinking that he'd lost control of it. But would quickly shake the thought off, and ignore the growing feeling of helplessness. He was in control. He was in control of everything and everyone around him. Nothing moved with out his approval or say so. He was a God! So why did he feel so....? 'Nice ashtray'. He takes it and puts it in his jacket pocket. 'Eh?' It might bring him a couple of quid down the second hand place? His police record was beginning to look more and more like a novelette. And the judge was becoming tired of looking at him. Something about the way the judge pointed at him when Murdoc walked into the court room. And instead of waiting to hear the charges brought against him. Instantly brought down his gavel and shouted. "GUILTY! Now get out!" Well. That was one way to save time. Speedy trial. Instant guilty verdict. Just enough time to get thrown in the cells for a quick snooze, before being thrown out again in the morning. He had better things to do anyway.

A whole year had sailed by without notice from the young man. Till he found himself laying on top of yet another strange girl, in another strange hotel room. She lifts her head and hiccups in his face. Saying Happy New Year, before kissing him and passing out again. 'Happy New Year? I hardly noticed the last one?' He thinks to himself as he withdraws his member from her, and sits on the edge of the bed searching for his underwear. He stops for a moment and looks back at the unconscious girl, then down to his still erect penis. 'Eh? Might as well give her one fer the New Year. Heh, heh.' He smiles evilly and climbs back on top of the girl. Giving her a quick shag and finishing up, before she wakes up and complains about it. Conscious or unconscious. He didn't care. If she was stupid enough to open her legs for him. Then Murdoc was certainly going take what he can from her before leaving. The need to prostitute himself being the driving force behind this. His larger need to take the feeling of those dirty men away. He quietly gets dressed, pockets her purse, and heads out of the room. Making his way down stairs to the lobby in search of a newspaper, he still isn't quite sure of the date. A wants to at least know what year it is. She was very, very drunk after all. He sees a newspaper on a small table by the front door, and makes his way over to it. January 1st 1987. 'Ack! No wonder I'm tired.' He grimaces and sniffs his armpit. He hasn't had any real sleep or bathed in at least a month. Or is it two? He scratches his head and tries to work it out. But only winds up making his eyes hurt. So he gives up and walks out of the building and onto the footpath, to hail a taxi. Climbing in he gives the driver his address. Time to go home. Back to his dads. His room. And the El Diablo. He'd made a point of giving his dad a little extra, to stop the old man breaking into his room. The idea of him finding the Bass and selling it off for booze money, makes Murdoc shudder. Something told the young man that the man down below, would be a bit more than miffed if that happened. So by making sure he always gave his dad a bit extra, he had so far ensured the guitars safety. He'd hardly spoken to the old man in ages, and they had gotten along pretty reasonably because of it. His brother on the other hand. Well that was a different story altogether.

It took Hannibal asking him if he could borrow Murdoc s car, before the young man even remembered he even owned one. Oh yeah? It took him three weeks to remember where he'd left it. Of course by the time he got there, it was a burned out shell. He stares at it a while and starts thinking about whether he really needed one or not? Not really. If he didn't even remember having one up to now? Obviously not. Besides. He saved money by not having one. No fuel, insurance, registration to pay. Much better financially for him. He waves it off and heads back to his friends car. If he desperately needed one. He could just steal it. Not a problem. Another charge to add to his growing list of charges. Auto theft. Can't say he's too predictable really. 'Back to jail. And out again. Weee! What fun. Heh, heh.' He chuckles as the judge fumes at him from the front of the room.

Murdoc finds himself down the local health centre again. This was becoming a bit of a second home to him as well. His huge sexual appetite meant that he was constantly at risk of various sexually transmitted diseases. He'd had almost every one by now. Sometimes he'd think about wearing a condom. But by the time he remembered he'd often already of finished, and was getting dressed again. He wriggles uncomfortably in his seat, as he fights the urge to scratch his burning crotch. 'Herpes maybe? Definitely pubic lice again. That's for sure.' He thinks and crosses his legs. A small child comes over with snot pouring down it's face. Murdoc wrinkles his nose in disgust at it, as the little boy scrambles up on to the bench beside him. 'Yearch! That has to be the worst sexually transmitted disease you could get. Fuck off and die you little toe rag!' He snarls in his mind, pulling away and sliding further down the bench from the sticky child. Murdoc has never liked small children. Except when he made them cry. Then he liked them a lot. He stops and wonders how many he must have by now? 'Hundreds. Has to be in the hundreds. If my little swimmers are as persistent as I am. Then most definitely hundreds'. And he'll be sure to deny every one of them. He half smiles as he uncomfortably crosses his legs the other way. He shoots a quick look at the sticky child and sighs. Pity he wasn't in a cue. One way Murdoc knew of getting to the head of a cue in a hurry. Was to secretly smack the child of the woman in front of him. So long as she had one. The kid would start screaming and she would be forced to take it outside to calm it down. He did love doing that. He'd smack this kid. But he was a bit concerned that with all the crap pouring out of it's head. Surely it would get stuck to him, and he'd never get rid of it. Besides. The mum kept looking at him funny. He suddenly gets a brilliant idea and stands up. Plunging his hand down the front of his jeans, he starts scratching his crotch vigorously.

"Ack! Bloody pubic lice! They don' half itch don' they?" He complains loudly so the woman can hear him. She stares wide eyed at him and stands up, quickly walking over and grabbing her child. Moving him and herself to the other side of the room. Murdoc smiles deviously and sits down again. Much happier for the solitude. He picks up a magazine and begins to flip through the pages. Article upon article driving home just how bored he is. Quickly his annoyance at the magazine starts to show, made worse by the fact that the crossword has already been filled in. He tosses it back on the table and slides lazily down in the chair. Folding his arms over his chest, and making various silly noises with his tongue and cheeks. The woman looks over at him and rolls her eyes. Murdoc doesn't care though. Other peoples feelings about the things he does in this kind of situation, tend never to register very highly to him. Why should he care how she feels? She's nobody and he's obviously way more important. Besides! He's bored and just wants to get this over and done with. He has things to do. People to see. And some of them he wants to see naked. Boring! Snore. "If that bloody doctor don't hurry up. I might just sit here and start giving me little visitors names!" He snarls, pointing at his lap. The woman at first gives him a look of disgust. But it slowly turns into a smirk, as she tries to hide her amusement at his comment. 'Heh, heh. I still got it.' He grins. Finally the nurse walks around the corner and calls his name. He stands and follows her from the waiting room, and into the doctors office. Half an hour later he comes out again with a prescription for antibiotics and a spray. He heads off down to the chemist none too concerned. Just something else to add to his list of things that irritate him the most.

That night. Murdoc is sitting on the edge of the stage after a rather brilliant performance. The audience, small as it may of been, had seemed to really enjoy the show. That had really put the young man in a pretty good mood, and he was now charming the pants off a star struck young girl, who'd been making eyes at him from the front of the stage. This was what he'd been waiting for all his life. That kind of adoration. The way the fans look at you, as though you were the most perfect thing in their whole rotten little existence. He was a God after all and she was proof of that. She grips his leg tightly and smiles at him, telling him how wonderful she thought he was. Of course I am. His confidence grows with each passing second. A mere taste of the acclaim he knows he will one day have all to himself. He grins at her and invites her to join him back stage in the dressing room. She nods and quickly clambers up on to the stage, taking his hand as he leads her across it and towards the back. They make their way into the dressing room and Murdoc checks to see that they're alone. Satisfied, he locks the door and moves over to the girl. His eyes shining with lust. He grabs her roughly and pushes her back against the wall. She reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, kissing him deeply as he lifts her up onto his hips and sliding his hands under her skirt, pulling at her knickers. Once again far too engrossed in his needs to remember where he had been that morning at what he was suppose to remember to do. He fumbles at his fly and soon is pounding his way inside her. She yelps a little and grips at his back, digging her fingers into the flesh. All his frustrations. All his irritations and annoyances. All those people who doubted him and his unique talent. Every sonuvabitch who ever brought him close to tears. Stroke after stroke he pushes it away from himself and into this star struck girl. One more victim of Murdoc s insane bid for power and glory. She quickly begins to realize he's a bit more than she can handle, and cries out in pain. His eyes shine with glee at the sound and he closes his eyes, savouring it. His arousal growing even deeper. But he's not dumb. He eases back and kisses her, whispering in her ear and calming her down. Moving her from the wall and over to the lounge, giving her a chance to relax again and let him have what he wants. She isn't going to escape him now. He won't allow it. He runs his hands up and down her body. As she lays there panting and unsure if she wants him to continue. He purrs at her and coos her into submission. Slowly building her trust again. She smiles and takes him back into her arms. He enters her again and this time he eases back. Rape is not exactly something he wants on his record. But many of the girls he's been with, could say he came pretty close at times.

Back at work the next morning. Murdoc is ticking off another name from his list. Last night was good. But he's sure he can do much better. Little audiences were not what he wanted. Huge sell out crowds. That was where the real money was and he knew it was just a matter of time before he had it. Bullworker was great. But not perfect. He almost had the right feel and the right chemistry. He just needed a band who could utilize his voice. They obviously didn't have enough talent to do that, and that's why it didn't sound right. His talent was once again being wasted on ingrates and he needed to fix that, and soon. He sighs and picks up his list, vaguely reading off the names and turning the page. Maybe with a new line up and better equipment? Could he afford that right now? He stands up and decides to take a break, waving someone over to take his place at the phones. Walking through the building, he makes his way to a little court yard outside, and takes out a cigarette. He'd been paying attention to how the music industry had been feeling lately. It was building for a change. New tastes were creeping in and he'd wondered if perhaps this was the next thing to adopt? Maybe? Worth a look anyway. He draws on his cigarette and looks up at the sky. A new wave on the horizon. Time for change. Time to move on. The last thing he needed was to be caught out, and not be on top of this when it happened. The first bands who are there to carry out the musical mood swing, are often the ones best remembered. If he could just figure out what it was, and be the one who changes it? Then surely the industry would dive at the chance to sign him up. He smiles and ashes his cigarette. The decision has been made. Time for Murdoc to start again.


	15. Chapter 15

Murdoc eventually gets tired of his Telesales job. Being yelled at by angry husbands, was not his idea of a good time. So every day after work, he scours the newspaper looking for a new job. One afternoon as he was wandering down the street, making the usual pest of himself that he tended to be. He spots and advertisement in the window of one of the local corner shops. For a Santa down at the shopping centre. So he wanders in to ask about it, and is immediately kicked out. Fuming, he reaches in and snatches the ad from the window. Running away as the shop keeper rushes out of his shop shouting. Murdoc heads down to the shopping centre and gets himself an interview with the manager. After about twenty minutes, he walks out of the mans office with a bag containing a Santa costume. 'Not bad for quick bit of cash.' He thinks and continues looking around for something a little more stable. One of his friends had mentioned a Scrap Merchant, who was always on the look out for bits and pieces. So he heads on over to see what exactly the Scrappy had in mind. Eventually he comes back with a list of what he considered the good stuff to be. A little impressed with how much he could make just picking up random pieces of rubbish. Not bad. And good for cases of monetary emergency. Eventually he takes on the job as a soup seller down on the pier, and tells the Telesales people to stick their job. He had far better things to do.

Christmas time arrives and Murdoc finds himself standing in a quickie Santa s Workshop. Looking at himself in the mirror in his costume. He raises an eyebrow and turns to the side. Tilts his head, and turns back again. He decides to try the "Ho, ho ho." Line and see if that makes what he's looking at better.

"Haw, haw, haw. Fuck me! Why did I agree to this crap again?" He scratches his head and looks at himself in the mirror again. Then he remembers they offered him fifty pounds to sit around all day listening to stupid kids talk a bunch of crap. While believing this fake Santa actually cared. "Oh yeah. Bah! Stupid Santa and his crrrrap elves. Bunch of.... Morons..... Idiots!" He mutters angrily to himself. He jams the Santa hat down on his head and sits on a small chair at the back of the makeshift room. Sliding a small bottle of Vodka from his jacket pocket. Taking a quick swig to make himself feel better. When one of the helper elves, a reasonably good looking girl in a very skimpy elf costume, pokes her head in the room and smiles at him. Telling him the show will begin in about ten minutes. He quickly hides the bottle and smiles back. Then winks and asks her if she'd like to make him smile, before he puts smiles on the kiddies faces. She giggles and steps in the room. In no time at all Murdoc is getting his wish. 'Fringe benefits. You just can't beat 'em really.' He thinks as the girl stands up again wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Show time arrives and Santa Niccals wanders out. Waving at the excited children and their parents, while making his way over to the throne.

"Haw, haw, haw. Merry Christmas. And who's first to sit on Santas knee hey?" He grimaces and sits down. He waves over the first child. A small girl of about six. She smiles at him and he picks her up. "And wwwwhat's yer name then?" The girl tells him and then goes on to explain what she'd like Santa to bring her for Christmas. Murdoc listens and nods. A few seconds into the conversation, becomes quite bored with it all. "Yeah. You'll get whatcha get really. Heh, heh. Here's a lollipop. Now rack off." He snarls and puts the little girl down. She looks back at him a little devastated, but Murdoc is already dealing with the next child. Ten minutes later he finds himself dealing with a small boy, who seems to have a list of about fifty different items. Murdoc looks incredulously at the boy and shakes his head.

"YYYYYeah. And err? You honestly think yer gunna git all that do ya? Idiot. Here's a lollipop. Get off me." He snarls and puts the child down. The boy looks up at him not quite understanding and wanders over to his mum. Five minutes later. Murdoc has all but lost the will to live. He looks over at the helper elves and taps his wrist. They shrug and hold up their fingers mouthing five more minutes at him. He clasps his hands together pleadingly, and the elves giggle at him. One of them nods and steps forwards.

"OK Kids. Santa needs to take a small break. So he'll be back in about twenty minutes." She says and smiles at the audience. Murdoc practically tosses the last child from his knee, and wanders off into the make shift Santa s Workshop. A few minutes later, he's having sex with the other elf. By the end of the day. Murdoc is walking out of the shopping center with his pay. 'Never again. If that taught me anythin'? It was why I hate kids.' He snarls to himself. And first looking both left and right, "accidentally", slaps a child as he quickly dashes across the road.

A few nights later. Murdoc is crawling around on the local Church roof. Peeling off the lead fixtures with a crow bar and wooden mallet. He slides along, carefully prising up the lead with his crow bar, using the mallet to help with the more stubborn pieces. As each piece comes away, he roughly folds them in half and tucks them into a back pack that he's wearing. One more piece and he's done. He straddles the roof and gently eases himself forwards. Being careful not to make too much noise. And keeping an ear out for his friend below, who is hiding behind a tree, keeping watch. Finally making it over to the last piece, he pushes the crow bar under and lifts up the edge. Working it around until it comes free. He lifts it off and pushes out the nails carefully. Then folds it and puts it in the pack along with his tools. Slowly he stands and turn himself round, then carefully dashes across the roof back to the ladder. That is leaning up against the side of the building. Scrambling down quickly, he takes down the ladder as his friend runs over. And they both carry it back to the stolen van. After tying it to the roof and jumping in. Murdoc starts the van and they make their escape.

Now with his new band, Crimson Backdraft. It doesn't take long for Murdoc to realize he has made another mistake. Well actually he hasn't. They were. The lead guitarist, a nasty little runt with a pug nose and an attitude to match. Has designs on leadership himself. And doesn't hesitate to let Murdoc know he thinks he can do a better job. Murdoc does his best to ignore the young mans grand standing, as the moron does his best to outshine Murdoc at every turn. But one night Murdoc finally feels he can no longer tolerate the guy. And it all comes to a head. Just as Murdoc is finishing the last song. The Lead Guitarist walks across the stage and snatches the microphone from Murdoc s hand. Wishes the audience a good night. Murdoc prickles with rage and tosses his Bass at the rather surprised Keyboardist. Who fortunately for him, catches it. The furious Bassist leaps on the unsuspecting Guitarist, slamming him to the ground. The young man doesn't stand a chance, as Murdoc proceeds to viciously pound him into unconsciousness. The other band members rush over and desperately try to drag the ferocious Bass player off the young man. But Murdoc manages to land one more solid kick to the Guitarists side, before they are successful. And that was the end of Crimson Backdraft. Eight months and twenty three performances. Not bad going really. But Murdoc learned a valuable lesson from it. Never trust a guy who smiles far too often, and washes his feet daily. At least in Murdoc s opinion anyway.

Very quickly he moves onto his new band. Motley Dude. Much better in his opinion. Now Murdoc was really beginning to shine. At least in his management skills. Much better in control of the things, and people around him. Using every means at his disposal to both advertise performances, and get his way. He'd really gotten quite good at convincing other acts to work with him and his band. To just get involved and put on a really spectacular show. He did often impress the local club and pub owners with how well and quickly he could pull things together. But Murdoc doesn't need to be told these things. He already knows. In fact, he's often the first to mention it. Sadly for him though. Although everything else might be pulling together nicely. His addictions are not. And that is really not only beginning to show in his body. Which has become quite thin and drawn. It is starting to affect his ability to perform on stage. Often he finds himself having to stop part way through. To take more pills and powders and things, just to go on with the show. And as far as he's concerned, for him that's just not good enough. Anything that starts preventing him from getting what he wants most most in his life, is just not worth having. So he decides it has just got to go. Murdoc heads home to his dads place and searches around for all his drug stashes. Taking the lot to the toilet, he drops it in the bowl and flushes it all away. If he was going to do this, then the last thing he needed was temptation. He heads back to his room and locks his door. Taking a deep cleansing breath, he lays down on his bed. Waiting for the pain to begin.

Much later that night. Time has begun to seem more irrelevant to him than before. Sweating profusely but violently shaking as if cold. Murdoc moans loudly and tries to find a comfortable position. His bones seem to ache and his body twitches in painful spasms. Needles of pain driving deep into his skull, as if someone was trying to prise it open like a melon. He curls up into a tight ball and grips his head tightly. Clenching his teeth and trying not to cry out. His stomach churns, and before he can do anything he retches and vomits violently all over himself. Murdoc rolls over, falling off the bed and slamming into the floor. Clambering onto all fours, his stomach heaves again and again. He stops after a while and feeling dizzy collapses into a tight ball in the middle of his own vomit. In far too much pain to care. He lay there on the floor, twisting and turning over and over. As bands of pain encircle his body and squeeze him tightly over and over again. He looks up at the door and slowly slides himself across the floor. He can't stand it. He has to get out. Wracked by another spasm of pain he scrunches himself into another tight ball and cries out, suddenly his stomach churns again and he retches. Not as much as before, as his stomach is almost empty of it's contents. Murdoc collapses again and rolls onto his back, his face covered in sweat and vomit, his eyes glazed over, red and sore. He suddenly bursts into tears, ramming his fists into his eyes and drawing up his knees to his chest.

"I can't do it!" He wails and falls heavily onto his side. Regaining control, he slides closer to the door and tries to pull the plank of wood away. So he can unlock the door and find something, anything to end the pain. But his body is already exhausted from what it has already gone through. And he's in too much pain to stand up and put any real effort into it. He hits out at the wood with his fist and cuts his hand badly. But already in pain, he barely notices. He cries out weakly for someone to help him. But there's no reply. Jacob is out for the evening, probably visiting one of his "girl friends". Hannibal had disappeared a few days ago and hasn't been heard from since. Not that Murdoc had even noticed. So Murdoc is alone. He curls up again and doesn't even realize he's just wet himself. He stays on the floor, curled up against the door, wracked in excruciating pain, and covered in his own filth. He whimpers quietly and clutches his pounding skull. Wishing he was dead.

The next morning Murdoc is laying on the floor on the opposite side of the room. His body still twitching with involuntary spasms. Too exhausted to cry out or even curl up any more. He feels like he's being gnawed at from the inside, his arms are red and bleeding from him violently scratching at his skin. Because he'd hallucinated that ants were crawling around inside them. And he had to get them out. He just can't move any more. He's not even sure if he's alive or dead. The sound of his breathing and his heart pounding inside his chest. Is all he can hear above the ringing in his ears. Starved of sleep, but unable to. Lying in his own piss and shit. 'Don't wanna live. Let me die. Please. I can't do this any more.' He thinks. His eyelids suddenly begin to flicker and his eyes roll into the back of his head, till only the whites can be seen, as suddenly his body becomes stiff and he's wracked by a violent seizure. Needles of light seem to pierce his brain. As his body violently fights the sickness working it's way out of his system. Slowly his body begins to relax, as the seizure dies down. Flecks of foam bubble from his lips, and his breath comes out of him in a deep gurgling sigh. Finally after fighting throughout the night, his body gives in to merciful sleep.

Murdoc wakes the next day. The pain has subsided to a dull aching throb, throughout his entire body. He still feels incredibly sick and the smell is making him want to vomit again. His body retches violently, but his stomach is empty and nothing comes out. He coughs and spits, slowly sitting himself more upright leaning his back against the wall for support. The room seems to dip and sway, as a wave of dizziness passes over him. So he closes his vomit and filth encrusted eyes, and waits for it to pass. Feeling a little better, he opens his eyes again and goes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Catching sight of the filth caked on it. He grimaces in horror and looks down at himself. Another bout of dry retching follows the sight. He gags and coughs. Slowly falling onto his hands and knees and trying to crawl his tired body to the door.

"I'm disgusting." He moans, as he limply makes his way along the floor. Eventually he makes it and bodily pulls himself to his feet. Gripping the door handle and wood. Using it to brace himself and hold his weight while he slides his feet back under him. He stops once on his feet, and leans against the door breathlessly. After a moments rest, he wrestles with the plank of wood. Trying to prise it away from the door. But it just doesn't seem to want to budge, so he slowly lifts his foot and tries to kick it out. Slowly it begins to move, but with his body weakened from the cold turkey, he's not able to keep kicking and stops again. He stares at it as the rage begins to build again, and makes one last attempt. Refusing to let this beat him. He raises his foot and builds up his anger, draining it down into his leg and foot. Using it as a kind of leverage. He kicks out again, giving it everything he's got. Finally it clatters to the floor and Murdoc can unlock the door.

Out in the hall, he slides his way along the wall to the bathroom and opens the door. Stepping into the small room he stops and leaning himself against the wall again. He shuts the door behind him. He looks across to the shower and staggers over, reaching out for the wall again to stop himself from falling. The room sways again as the dizziness returns. The need to wash what is left of the sickness and pain from his body, pressing him forwards. He makes it to the shower and stops, closing his eyes again till the dizziness subsides. He reaches out for the taps and turns on the water, then without removing what little clothing he has left on, steps in. His bones feel as though they may break through the skin, and the water crashing down on him like stones, makes the feeling worse. He is suddenly overcome by a flood of tears and begins to cry. Sliding down the wall of the shower as his body is wracked by uncontrollable sobbing. He slowly lays himself down on the floor of the shower. The water spraying down on him, washing what is left of the sickness that is caking him away and down the drain. He curls up into a ball and continues to cry, deep heart felt sobs of pain and sadness. All the years he'd stopped himself from crying coming out at once. As the young man no longer has the energy to fight and control it anymore. Jacob opens the bathroom door and peeks inside. He sees Murdoc on the shower floor and furrows his brow. Listening to his sons painful sobs, he wonders what could of happened and remaining in the hall closes the door again. Instead heading into Murdoc s now open room, he looks around, shocked by the filth and smell. His rage builds and he swings back to the bathroom to punish the boy. But as his hand grips the door handle to open it again, it suddenly occurs to him what that was. He'd known Murdoc was a drug addict for sometime, but had never bothered himself with it. None of his business he'd thought. And so long as it didn't interfere with him getting paid. Why should he care? He takes his hand from the door and makes his way back down the stairs. 'Best leave the boy to it.' He decides and heads back into the sitting room.


	16. Chapter 16

Murdoc soon gets back up on his feet and continues working with the band. His experiences with cold turkey still fresh in his mind, he sometimes finds it hard not to think about it every now and then. Drinking much more heavily to compensate, it doesn't take him long before he slumps so far down into depression, that he begins to just not care too much about anything. Wearing the same clothes day after day and not bathing in between at all now. He used to at least bother showering once every two weeks. Now it was at least a month before even his hands saw soap. Sleeping in his clothes, so he didn't have to waste time getting dressed. Sometimes he'd strip down to his underwear, but he couldn't even remember the last time he'd changed those. Feeling as though it was the worlds fault he'd had to go through so much pain, He'd become even nastier than usual. Worse still, he no longer cared if he got hurt. And at times revelled in the feelings. At least if he was in pain he was still alive. After the cold turkey, he sometimes found it hard to tell. So that had to be a good thing, was his general thinking. Better still. If he'd pushed someone to the point of wanting to hit him. Then he knew he'd hurt them. Pain. The rawest emotion of all. He watches as one of his latest victims squirms at his feet. A young man who'd made the mistake of picking up his Bass. Murdoc had stormed over and beaten the young man senseless. And now he was standing over him like an evil god. He smiles as the young man tries to crawl away. And slowly steps around him to block the escape. Tingles of delight moving through him like a river of warmth. He listens to the young mans whimpers and becomes aroused. He'd noticed the sexual thrill he got from hurting people, back when he was at school. But hadn't really understood that's what it was. Not really. Control. That's what it was. He had this person in the palm of his hand, and could do anything. Let him go? Make it worse? Decisions, decisions. Either way, this idiot had to ask. Beg for Murdoc to let him go. Right now Murdoc was indeed this young mans god. He leans down, reaching out his hand to grab the guy by the hair and hit him again. When one of the band members walks around the corner and sees what has happened. He walks over angrily and picks the young man up. Murdoc turns his burning eyes on the drummer and snarls. Curling his lips back over his shark-like teeth. But the guy barely notices, as he takes the young mans weight, draping his arm about his shoulders and helping him to his feet.

"Wot the fuck are ya doin'? Christ! Are ya tryin' ta kill him or summink?" The drummer snaps, walking the young man over to a chair, and sitting him down. Murdoc calms himself and takes out a cigarette Sliding it between his lips and lighting it. Never taking his eyes off his victim. He stares in delight at the amount of blood on the young mans face and shirt. He did that. Beautiful. He draws on the cigarette slowly and leans his weight on one hip. Taking his eyes from the young man when the owner of the club approaches, and starts yelling about fighting in his establishment. Murdoc rolls his eyes and sighs in quiet frustration. Idiot. He wasn't fighting. He was teaching yet another idiot, who was one day going to be in charge of this whole stupid planet. The owner orders them out, and the band pack up their gear. The drummer watching as the ambulance he'd called, takes Murdocs victim away. Murdoc doesn't help to pack up though. Like a king on his throne, he sits quietly in the corner watching. As he slowly drinks himself further into an alcohol fuelled numbness. He knew what needed to happen. This band was still going no where. And now he wasn't blinded by the drugs any more, he could see it more so than ever. Time to start again.

After finishing up the last few gigs he'd lined up for Motley Dude. Murdoc takes the microphone and announces not only to the audience, but to a very shocked band. That they were breaking up. He smiles at the audience and makes his way off stage. The band follows, yelling at him and trying to get answers. As to why he hadn't told them before this. Murdoc ignores them, packing up his Bass and amp. He finally turns to them and grins, as he picks up his jacket and throws it over his shoulder.

"I've taken you as far as I can go. What more can I do? There isn't half enough talent in you as I need. That's all I can say really. So ta, tah. I'm off to find some people who really understand what this industry is about. Coz I just ain' gettin' it here. Am I?" He snarls in response and walks out. The band look at one another in indignant shock, as Murdoc hails a taxi and makes his way back to his dads.

A whole year passes and soon it's 1991. Now twenty five years old and completely drug free. Murdoc feels refreshed and alive. Apart from the binge drinking of course. He was now doing that almost weekly. Usually remaining for the most part drunk for the whole week. Then for a few days after, he'd drink himself into some kind of drunk coma. But he has managed to stay away from the drugs completely. Reminding himself of how much they stole from him. And making sure to stay angry enough about it, to not to want to go back to them. He can't help but be occasionally tempted though, as he still finds himself in the same sort of company. Watching as people slide into drug fuelled comas on the floor, and dancing around lost in some haze. He shakes his head and shudders at the thought that he had embarrassed himself like that. And just hadn't noticed. Now back in control of his mind and thoughts. He watches a while longer, before making the decision he really didn't need these people. And taking a bottle of Rum from the table, walks out into the night to think about his next move.

One morning as Murdoc lays in bed thinking about how wonderful his future will be. He smiles at the thought that he has pretty much come a long way as things goes. So many people had seen his talent for being able to get things moving. Not to mention how easily he could encourage other bands to join him. He knew he had really begun to get attention. Surely his fame wasn't too far behind. It would of been fantastic if he had of gotten instant success. But given what he's been through already. He could plainly see why that would of been a tragedy. All the things he would of missed out learning and changing in his life. This was a kind of preparatory stage. He was being given the chance to clean things up and round things off. Before the final stage was set. He can see how he wouldn't of been as great without it really. So he had to go through a few more failures to get to the top. Obviously. It couldn't be anything else. For true success, he had to build himself up. He was already great. But there was no reason why he couldn't be greater. That way, he'd shine so much more and no one could ever question his reasons for being there. The blankets move a little, and a large lump appears at about his crotch region, and steadily begins to rise and fall. Murdoc closes his eyes and lays back. Bringing his hands up behind his head, and interlacing his fingers. He sighs deeply and enjoys the feelings, as they slowly begin moving through him. He continues to think about how things have gone. Going through a mental list of abilities he now has, as his arousal grows. How much longer will he need to wait? He wonders and sighs as his need to ejaculate grows steadily closer. A few days? Weeks? Years? Maybe it's with the next band? He hasn't even gotten one together yet. That could be it? This could be the band that brings him his fame. The blankets begin to rise and fall faster. Murdoc turns his head to his shoulder and winces, as the pleasure increases. For a moment his mind goes blank as he concentrates on the sensation. There he'll be. Up on stage, the audience screaming his name. Murdoc! Murdoc!! Murdoc!!! Wanting him. Needing him. Desiring only him. Murdoc Niccals! The greatest Performer in the world. A true god if ever there was one. Women hurling themselves at his feet. Wanting him more and more, and more, and more, and more and...! His body becomes rigid as his muscles clench. He arches his back. Moaning loudly as the ejaculate pumps from him. The blankets move a little slower and soon stop. He relaxes again and slowly breathes out. Slowly the lump moves further up his body until a head appears from under the blankets. A young girl. Perhaps only seventeen appears and smiles at him. He grins back and shoves her roughly to one side. Sliding himself from the bed and stretching. She watches drunkenly, as he stands and makes his way to the toilet. Then hiccups and rolls over, slowly falling back to sleep.

Murdoc soon gathers another band together and really puts everything behind it. Going all out with image and style. Really pressing forward the notion that he was the greatest thing to ever happen to the audience. He decides to add a change to his whole being, adopting a very flamboyant persona. Almost to the point of being so camp he was drag. The whole band is dressed very similar. High heels, fingernail polish and make-up. Open necked shirts and flashy jewellery. One of the necklaces he proudly displayed about his neck, was a small inverted crucifix he'd had a friend make for him. He looks out over the audience and sees them stare almost wide eyed at him. He had their attention. Seeing he's made a huge impact on the audience. It's not long before he finds the venues are filling up. Still, he can also see he's not quite there. Not yet! But he's getting so much closer, he can almost taste it. Maybe he should get a haircut?

He wanders down the hairdressers one morning and books an appointment. Sitting down on one of the seats, he picks up a magazine and begins to flip through the pages. Not really sure how he wants his hair styled at the moment. And thinking maybe he'll see something he liked before it was his turn. He vaguely listens to the various conversations happening around him. And slowly feels the boredom setting in. Hoping none of the hairdressers decides to talk to him in the same way. As one of the hairdresser finishes with her client, and walks her to the counter to pay her money. Murdoc looks up and sees the result. Not bad. He looks back down to the magazine and sees a man with a rather nice shaggy perm in the picture in front of him. 'Hmm? Interestin' Maybe that's the one?' He thinks to himself and marks the page. The hairdresser invites him to take a seat in front of the sink, so she can wash his hair. He shrugs and wanders over. As he sits down, for a moment he begins to wonder when the last time he washed his hair was? But can't seem to put an exact number on it? So he gives up. The young woman drapes a smock around him and lays him back in the seat, lowering his head back into the basin. She turns on the water and starts wetting his hair. Murdoc closes his eyes and relaxes, not seeing the sudden look of horror in the young girls face. She walks away for a moment and comes back wearing rubber gloves. Then applies a liberal amount of shampoo to his head and carefully works it in. Saying something about him needing to wash his hair more frequently. Murdoc shrugs and grunts and affirmation, but doesn't really answer her. She washes out the shampoo, then applies a little more to be on the safe side. Washing it out again and finally adding conditioner. Hair finally clean. She dries it a little and walks him over to one of the mirrors. Sitting him down and collecting her tray of tools. She asks him what he would like, smiling sweetly at him in the mirror. Murdoc half smiles back and pulls out the magazine that he was holding from under his smock. Vaguely pointing at the picture he'd seen before. She looks at the picture then at him. Going on to say something about his hair being a little too short, but if he really wanted it, she'd give it her best. He shrugs again and settles back in the chair. Telling her to do whatever. He takes back the magazine and continues to read. No longer paying attention to the girl and what she is doing.

An hour later. Murdoc is woken up by the girl, and told that she has finished. Not even realizing he'd fallen asleep. Murdoc yawns, stretches and looks around the room at the other patrons. Some of which are glaring angrily at him. The girl giggles at him and tells him he has the cutest snore. Slowly running her hand up his arm and almost purring at him. He smiles at her seductively and jokes that it's even cuter the next morning. She smiles at him and playfully slaps his arm, feigning shock. But laughs regardless and gives him a seductive wink back. Murdoc finally turns his attention to the mirror and looks at the result. For a moment he's speechless as it looks as though the girl has given him and Afro, rather than a perm. He grimaces a little as he turns his head from side to side, studying it carefully and deciding whether he really likes it or not. She holds up another mirror so he can see the back and tells him that it will drop a little, But this was pretty much what he'd asked for. He looks it over and over, not entirely sure he likes it at all. But after a moments more thought, decides he can make it look much better and if anything. His charm and wit will outshine it anyway. After all, you can't really put a dampener on true perfection. Can you? He smiles at himself and nods. Agreeing more with himself than anything. She walks him to the counter and he pays her the money. Then asks her out on a date. She smiles and looks around, quickly writing her phone number on a piece of paper and handing it to him. He takes the number and puts it in his pocket. Then walks out of the shop and makes his way home. That night. Murdoc jumps up on stage and gives the audience the most powerful performance of his whole career. Up to that point anyway. That night. The Burning Sensations are truly born.

Murdoc had been spending some time living with a friend. His dad and he had gotten into a huge argument over rent. And Murdoc had decided to just give him the extra and shut him up. Practically throwing it in the old mans face before storming out. Now with his dad on the rampage, he felt it would be better if they kept their distance awhile. Before one of them ended up in jail for murder. He sits on the little balcony and looks down at the small playground over the road. Sighing heavily. He and his band were doing quite well. But he was still plagued by the comments people constantly made about his singing voice. There was nothing wrong with his voice as far as he was concerned. They just didn't know or understand true talent when it came up and slapped them. 'The cretins. No idea at all'. He did however feel there was a trend happening as far as this seemed to go. And wondered if maybe he shouldn't at least try to improve it a little. Not that it needed much improvement. So he did take time to warm up his voice before every performance. No harm in a little practice. Besides. It was obvious they were all just jealous of him. If only they could be so wonderfully perfect. 'Idiots! Morons! Untalented wastes of space'. They had nothing on him and they knew it. The best part about all of this, was now he wasn't taking drugs anymore. So he had stopped prostituting himself. That was the one thing that had made him the most happy. Stopping. And now he had begun to feel so much better about himself and his situation. Well almost anyway. Better still his feelings for all men, beautiful and ugly, had died away to practically nothing. And he could almost put them out of his mind completely. He knew he wasn't gay! 'Ha! Told you'. It was the drugs and shit that had confused him after all. Now so long as no one ever found out. He'd be fine. He grins and watches a bunch of boys chasing another boy, across the play ground. Tackling the boy to the ground and giving him a good kicking. He chuckles and watches smiling to himself. 'Ahhh. Kids. You can always count on 'em fer a good bit of violence. Heh, heh.' He smiles and takes a final draw on the cigarette he'd been smoking, then tosses the butt over the railing. He stands up and stretches, cracking a few of his vertebra loudly, before slowly turning and making his way back inside. Heading back to the dining table, to finish writing a song he'd started earlier that day. He runs through the lyrics he'd stopped at once more. To catch the feeling of the song again, so that he can continue. It almost seemed to be writing itself. He liked this one a lot. But somehow, although the words just seemed to be flowing from him, he just couldn't seem to fit it to music at the moment? It played on his mind and he wasn't sure why? But he somehow knew it was important. So he decided that once complete, he'd put it in the back of his book and maybe look at it again one day. Maybe it was just not meant for this band? Nah! Now he was just getting ahead of himself. He chuckles and sits down at the table. Picking up the pen and writing the last few lines down. Before closing the note book and heading into the kitchen for a quick snack.


	17. Chapter 17

Sitting on the side of the stage, after what he did consider to be a rather bland performance by the band. Murdoc looks out over the room and sighs. Dropping his face into his hands and dragging them back through his permed hair. He grips it tightly for a moment, before scratching his head vigorously in frustration. It was a pretty long run as things were. This band was a lot better than the others that he had had. And he did have to admit they did bring him a pretty reasonable amount of local fame. But he wanted more. So much more. Picking up the bottle of Scotch beside him, he swirls the bottle gently in his fingers. Watching the gold liquid moving about inside. So much more. Maybe he was just tired? Tired of being mediocre. Not that it was his fault he was. They should be holding him up and praising him by now surely. Stupid audience. Cheers were all well and good, even the after performance sex was great. But what's the point of it if he didn't have fame. 'Like a water fall without the water. Just a pointless cliff. Fame. Worldwide fame. Would make his magnificence even more... ? Well...? Magnificent'! He quietly picks at the label with a long talon and sighs. Boredom. He needed something to spice himself up with. He jumps down and finishes the bottle, placing it precariously on the edge of the stage and walking out. Something to make him buzz.

Eventually he finds himself at one of those drug parties he'd been avoiding for quite a while now. Telling himself this was just for a night. Nothing more. Just to take the edge off the boredom. He was in control. Never again would he let drugs take that away. Never again would he allow himself to be an addict never... 'Hm? Cokes interesting'. He looks around the room at all the others, taking in their behavior and burning it into his mind. 'I'll never again be one of those people. Ever'. Then taking a seat on one of the cushions by the small coffee table where someone was making lines of coke. He watches and waits his turn. 'Just a little. Just take the edge off. That's it. One snort and I'm out of here.' The person before him finishes and hands him the rolled up pound note. Murdoc looks at it indignantly. He was certainly not about to shove that up his snozz. 'Moron'. Putting it down he takes a business card from the table and cuts a small amount from the cut pile. Making a little mound and picking it up with his fingers. Placing it on the back of his hand. He sits back on his heels and looks at the powder for a moment, his eyes glancing up at the confused throng of giggling laughing idiots around him. 'Never one of them.' Then lifting his hand to his nose, he quickly snorts it in. The feeling is shocking at first. Tingling and itching a little. It sends a shot of bright fire into his brain. He blinks and rubs his nose. Coughing, hacking and rubbing at his sinuses. To try and stop himself from sneezing. He stands up again and slowly moves to the other side of the room. He can feel the effects already and just wants to get out before he ends up staying there forever. Once outside the noisy house, everything begins to look so much brighter. The colors, shapes, everything. He smiles and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. Suddenly feeling on top of it all. He could do anything. Run a mile, climb a mountain, swim the channel. Anything! Now he felt alive again. Then before he got that, "Just a little more. It wouldn't hurt." thought. Ricocheting it's way around in his head. He walks around the side of the house to the front. And makes his way back to the main street, looking for a car to steal and take him home.

Murdoc wakes up the next morning and looks around the room. His entire being feeling tired again. He starts thinking about the Cocaine and how it had given him that quick boost of much needed energy. And starts to wonder if it was really such a bad thing. He suddenly realizes what he's thinking. And shakes his head, pounding at his temples with his fists. That was the sort of ridiculously stupid thoughts, that had made him an addict in the first place. 'You idiot. Stop thinkin' like that. Drugs are not gunna make you famous. Think Murdoc, think!' He slides out of bed, revealing that he is only wearing a pair of very badly stained underpants and a single sock. He cracks his back and wanders off to the toilet. Putting the whole thing out of his head. After a quick slash, he heads to the kitchen and opens the cupboard doors. Food hadn't really been very high on his agenda of things needed for a while. Unless of course you were talking about his liquid breakfasts. But looking over the items seemed to be somehow important. At least he could say he looked. It's just nothing really jumped out at him in the mornings and said, "Eat me!" That's all. He shuts the cupboard and heads to the fridge. Opening the door and feeling the quick chill of the air, as it flows down his legs. He shivers involuntarily and looks at the bread. 'I could have a slice of that I 'pose?' He thinks and reaches out for it. But he doesn't really want it. Hesitating he waves it off and steps back, letting the door close itself. 'Fuck I'm bored!' He thinks, plunging a hand in the back of his underwear, and scratching his bum cheek. He turns and walks into the lounge room to grab a glass of Whiskey. When suddenly he hears a noise behind him and looks around. His eyes falling on the girlfriend of the friend he'd been living with. She stares at him wide eyed for a moment, before shaking her head and stepping into the kitchen.

"You loose yer pants or summink?" She asks gruffly as she fills the kettle with water. Murdoc stands quietly by the small drinks cabinet. And picks up the glass of Whiskey he'd just poured himself. Slowly the girls words move around in his mind, looking for a braincell to translate them for him. They find one and he looks down. Studying the material and looking with a certain amount of pride at his bulge. He scratches his crotch and pulls up the pants a little. Then marches proudly into the kitchen with his drink. She turns as he enters the room and rolls her eyes. As he still has not gone and put something on. He kicks out a chair with his foot and sits down. Looking at the shape of her body in the silky material of her dressing gown. 'Just like the one that the lady next door used to wear when I was a kid.' He smiles and takes a swig.

"Nah. Just can't be bothered right now is all." He replies, watching her bum wiggle provocatively from side to side. As she starts washing up the few remaining things in the sink from the night before. He'd always liked her, since the moment he laid eyes on her. He stretches out his legs under the table and plays with the glass on the table in front of him. Sliding it back and forth across the table, between his hands. She stops and sighs loudly, turning around and shooting him an angry look.

"You can' be bothered doin' very much round here that I can see!" She snaps. Murdoc looks up at her for a moment shocked. But quickly shrugs it off and continues playing with his glass. She can't talk to him like that. It wasn't even her house. He smiles and looks up at her from the corner of his eye. She'd given up and gone back to washing the dishes. He gulps back the last of his drink and stands up. The bulge in his pants now much more obvious. Stepping forwards and pressing himself against her, as he moves to put his glass in the sink. She stiffens as she feels his hard member pressed hard into her buttocks. Then attempts to quickly slide sideways and out of the way. Only to find his other arm on the other side of her. His hand firmly pressed down on the kitchen bench. Trapped. "Hey!" She snaps at him. He looks down at her feigning shock, and gives her an innocent look. Jiggling the glass in his hand in front of her before he carefully drops it into the water. He leans back a little, sliding his hands from the bench and over her hips. Holding them and pulling her even closer and harder against him. Feeling the warmth of her bum cheeks pressed hard against his painfully stiffening member. She slits her eyes, angry at the fact he was trying to seduce her. Then roughly shakes his hands from around her. He smiles slyly and runs his tongue across his teeth. 'Heh, heh. She won't be able to resist me fer much longer.' He thinks and turning quickly on his heel, marches confidently out of the room and back to his bedroom. Just a quick wank before pulling on a pair of jeans and heading out for the day.

Murdoc soon has a drug regime worked out, that he thinks is perfect for him. Two days on Three days off. And the moment he starts thinking the word "need" in regards to it. He stops for a week. 'Perfect'! He knows what he is doing as far as he's concerned and because he can stop so easily. That means he isn't an addict. He's in perfect control of himself and his lifestyle. He smiles at the audience and starts the next song. It's been three years now, and the crowds have thinned a little. But he's still pulling in large enough numbers to make a tidy sum at the end of the night. He can do better. He is better than a few hundred in cash. Surely they can see that now. He scans the room habitually for the talent agent he knows just has to be there. Still no sign as yet. But that's OK.' Just a matter of time'. Now he was putting money into advertising his performances in the local paper. Getting artistic friends to draw up huge pictures and making the ads bold and bright. Dropping a handful of leaflets in at the music shops for passers by to notice. Paying large breasted girls to wear T-shirts with the bands logo on them. Anything he could think of to really put the bands name out there. And it was working. He'd even had a talk to one of the people down at the local radio station. Asking him to just mention the bands name and club they were performing at. Local news. Was how he'd sold that one. That got some attention. They'd really made some money that night. Mostly from selling cheap T-shirts out the front. But you couldn't deny the fact that Murdoc was one Hell of a salesman. He could sell anything to anybody. He pretty much proved that every night. But he could see it was time to consider moving on again. He'd done more than enough here, to make these barely talented swines rise up into the stratosphere. And make him a Rock God. He was really doing them more a favor, than he was doing himself. 'Such a generous person'. The next band. That's the one, it has to be? After all. What more was there for him to learn?

A few more months pass before the last performance. And once again Murdoc makes the fateful announcement. 'Drop them before they have a chance to drop you'. Important Murdoc lesson number three. One of course being. Murdoc is great. Lesson two. Never forget lesson one. He smiles and wanders back stage for his nightly humping session. With the few fan girls he'd pulled together. 'Ahhh. Fan girls. There's nothing better than ta get down and dirty with a small handful of star struck lovelies and really shake yer fillin's loose.' He smiles and ushers them into the back room. Later that night he makes his way into his friends flat. He closes the door and wanders into the lounge room. There asleep on the lounge is his friends girlfriend. Her tight little skirt high on her leg, with just a hint of her knickers showing. Instantly his eyes glimmer with desire, and he tip toes over for a closer look. Gently lifting her skirt he smiles wishing he had a camera or something. 'That'd give her summink ta whinge about. Heh, heh.' He softly chuckles. Suddenly she rolls over and drapes her arm round his neck. Pulling him down onto the lounge with her. She opens her eyes and sighs into his face. She's completely drunk. He pulls back a little and looks around.

"Noooo. Donch'a wanna gimme a cuddle?" She hiccups at him. Murdoc looks at her confused and raises an eyebrow. "Dinkums." She suddenly adds with a giggle. 'Ha! She thinks I'm him.' He beams with glee. Hesitating not even another second, he scoops her up and takes her to his room. Not stopping to switch on any lights. Before long, he's giving her the fuck of her life. Pounding out every moment of sexual frustration she'd ever left him with. She may not of really willingly handed it to him on a plate. Not like he deserved anyway. But she hadn't said no either. He'd take it however it was given. After all he'd get it out of her in the end . And really, she did owe him. She owed him for every morning he'd woken up and had to watch her flaunting her body at him, but not ever letting him touch her. Like she was better than him! Rubbish. And he'd make sure she'd remember that for the rest of her life.

He wakes up suddenly the next morning. As a voice shouts angrily into his sleep, rocking him from a warm gentle dream. About exotic Asian ladies rubbing scented oil into his groin, and licking sherbet from his chest. Leaping back and looking around blearily. His eyes fall on the absolutely furious face of his friend. He stares at him in shock and stands up on the mattress. Moving forwards and stepping down onto the floor to confront him. Before he can open his mouth his friend dives on him, and starts punching him viciously in the stomach. Murdoc doubles over in pain and his eyes blaze viciously. 'FINE! Be like that'! His mind screams. He tears himself from the guys grip and turns tables on him, grabbing him by the head in his fore arm. Then punching him in the face. Suddenly his girlfriend screams and both men look up at her. Murdoc blinks and instantly feigns innocence. He wasn't going to be blamed for this mess. That was for bloody sure.

"Oi! What the fuck are ya doin' in me bed?" He asks, still holding his friend by the neck. The guy turns his head and looks up at him confused. The girl looks around and stares back. She tries to remember, but all she has is a drunken haze in her mind and very few details. She shrugs and taking the sheet steps from the bed, wrapping it around herself. His friend looks at her and back to Murdoc. Then struggles to be set free. Murdoc lets go and steps back, getting ready for another attack. His friend looks from one to another, not sure who to believe. But being darned sure that she was, in his bed. Something had certainly happened. Murdoc watches his eyes slit. Waiting for his friend to suddenly throw another punch. He'd been here before and knew that things could get really messy any minute. So he wasn't going to be caught out twice. He almost tingles with the desire to hurt him. Wanting him to bring it on so he'd have a reason. Teach him for having a girlfriend in the first place, and letting her walk around making him hard every morning. But never once had she offered to even give him a quick toss. Not once! How dare she. All of this was her fault and now he had a splitting head ache. 'Bitch'! And she was still flaunting herself in front of him. Christ! If he gets another hard on now, he'll never get out of here.

"You slept with him!" He shouts at the girl. Murdoc rolls his eyes and relaxes again. Throwing his hands in the air in frustration at the whole stupid situation. This was why he'd never want a girlfriend himself personally. Too much hassle. 'Borrowin' 'em fer a quick shag every now and then. Was a much better way to work out the things that bother you the most. Ahaw, haw, haw.' He waves the guy off and picks up his jeans. Sitting down on the edge of his bed and pulling them on. The girl steps forwards and soon the two of them are arguing with one another. Murdoc moves around the room quickly gathering up his stuff and packing it into a small bag. Well his job here was done, and surely his dad would of calmed down by now. So time to go home to dad. With the two of them still screaming at one another. Murdoc makes a hasty retreat. Quietly pulling the front door closed behind him and making his way to the elevator. He didn't really care how things worked out between them. He'd gotten what he wanted out of them both. So there was no need to stick around and hear any of the details. He drops his bag on the elevator floor and tucks his shirt into the top of his jeans. Not that what she'd done to him that night was anything to really celebrate. She was crap in bed. Corpses would of moved more. Christ! He'd wasted some of his best moves on her to. 'Bitch'! He lights up a cigarette and draws heavily on down and picking up his bag again, just as the elevator arrives on the ground floor. Not to worry. He had given her gonorrhea anyway. So that made up for any losses. He makes his way quickly through the lobby and out into the street. Reaching into his jacket pocket for the girls purse. 'And now she's payin fer me taxi ride home to. What a lovely girl. Heh, heh.' He smiles and takes out the money, dropping the rest in the bin and waving down a passing taxi.


	18. Chapter 18

Now back home at his dads place. Murdoc settles back down into his typical routine. Waking at around lunch time, and generally starting his day with a quick wank. Then a slash. Then a few push ups, to get his already glorious looking body in even more glorious looking shape. Then standing naked in front of a mirror and checking out how amazing he looked. Before finally putting on something that he considers to be reasonably clean. Although judging from the large number of people who collapsed as they happen to walk by him when the wind was blowing in their direction. Maybe it wasn't as reasonably clean to very many others. To be truthful, homeless people were disgusted by his smell. And they would know the difference. Of course if you asked him, he'd tell you why. You see he's already perfect. He doesn't need all those stupid soaps, powders, sprays and make-up. Hairspray, shampoos, creams and powders. Or any of that other rubbish to make himself look good. He was already perfect. And when you consider how much time people spend slapping all that stuff on in the morning. Just so they can attract the attention of someone of the opposite sex. It's all a waste of time if they reject you anyway. Isn't it? He doesn't do any of that shit! And girls still fall all over him just to get noticed. See? He's perfect. He'd come to the conclusion that the problems he was having with his bands. Was that he'd pretty much let them seek him out. This had to stop. As far as he was concerned, it just had to be the reason why he just didn't seem to be getting anywhere. His talent was obviously the big draw card. Having someone like him out front, was bound to get them some attention. So he would be very irresistible to them and that's why they always seemed to make their way to his door. At least in his opinion. So instead he was going to seek them out himself. He'd go around and watch some of the local talent perform. And when he found someone he thought worthy, head-hunt them from that band. Then once his band was ready. He'd show the world exactly what was on offer in this shit hole little Hamlet. Not that there really seemed to be much that he'd seen so far. But he'd continue searching nonetheless. Why should he have to accept the mediocre rejects that nobody else wanted? He deserved better than that. Far better.

It's not long before he realizes he's somehow done it again. More mediocre rejects. Christ! Who the fuck keeps breeding these people!? He gave the band an appropriate name. The Stupid Name Gang. Actually, they'd all come up with it after a late night drinking session and simply settled on it, because it was different and they had just plain run out of ideas. Murdoc had the last say though and he decided it suited the band perfectly. What the Hell was he thinking? This was just making things so much harder, and he was almost completely out of patience with the whole ridiculous situation. Why was he being ignored!? Who the fuck did he have to kill to finally get some recognition!? He'd do it to. He was beginning to feel it would be the only way to get those people to finally notice he was there. And even if they still didn't, at least he would have had a bit of fun. More fun than sitting around, listening to tone deaf people trying to understand the concept of someone as amazing as himself. You couldn't even begin to see the brilliance of him. He was so far out of your league. You'd need a couple of thousand life times to even begin the journey. Morons! The only saving factor of The Stupid Name Gang, was at least they had a few laughs. But Murdoc could see the others just weren't taking the idea of fame seriously. So after two months and five gigs. They broke up and decided to just hang around getting drunk and have a few laughs together instead. In a way he didn't mind. Keeping a few friends on stand by at least helped when he needed someone to bail him out of jail. He had been building up a pretty substantial criminal record after all. To be truthful, even he was shocked he hadn't been given an actual jail sentence yet. He looks from one of his new friends to the other and raises an eyebrow. Actually. He should really stop thinking like that, before he curses himself or something.

Not long later. Murdoc brought together another band. Now he was on the business end of things. These guys were good. Still not as good as him. But they certainly knew how to put on a show and seemed really interested in taking their performance higher that a few late night Pub gigs. Yes! This was the pay off. Surely! They inspired Murdoc to push himself harder than ever. And the progress was really beginning to show. The audiences really started to pay attention, girls hurling themselves at the stage and trying to grab him by the legs. Murdoc was delighted. This was what he'd been waiting for. Every performance seemed more like a marathon, than the simple walk in the park. That he'd become used to with the other bands. He'd step from the stage literally dripping with sweat and feeling thoroughly exhausted. But still riding high on the excitement of it all. This of course had made him glad he'd been working out now. Otherwise he might never of been able to keep up with them all. Now where is that agent? Surely Durango 95 was the band they had been looking for. He continues his search through the audience every night. Hoping that, that shadow way up the back there...? No? Oh well. Maybe tomorrow night for sure?

It's not long before Murdoc finds himself back in jail. Eh! It was a mistake! Honestly! Car theft? Rubbish! He was merely borrowing it. Besides. How was he to know it belonged to a Policeman? He sits quietly in his cell, looking at the wall and waiting for his friend to arrive and bail him out. And it had better be soon to. He had a gig on that night and he needed time to get ready. Can't be late for that. He'd never missed a gig, and he cringed at the thought that this might be the one. Here he would be, stuck in this hole in the wall, and finally the band will have gotten some attention from the industry. He shudders and tries not to think about it too hard. But it keeps echoing around in his skull. If he wasn't there. They'd never see how great he was, and give him his well earned break from mediocre-ville. Finally putting him on the top of the pile, for the world to bow before. He settles back on the bench and closes his eyes. Waiting as the minutes slowly turn to an hour. Then two. Then three! What the fuck!? Where is he? Five hours later. The performance is over. He missed it. He missed a show. He stands up and swallowing his anger, walks to the bars of the cell. Looking out and trying to see the warder.

"Oi! Guard! Are you there?" He calls out, hoping to catch some attention. The large warder, who had been sitting on a chair just outside the cells. Stands up and walks back into the room. He approaches Murdoc at the bars, tapping on them with his truncheon. Gesturing that he wants Murdoc to step back. Murdoc does so. "Has my mate arrived with my bail yet? I really need to be somewhere you see." He asks the warder, and doing his best not to show his annoyance with the whole situation. The warder shrugs and tells him he'll be let out, when he's let out. And with a grin, turns and walks back into the other room. He quietly watches the warder leave, before angrily spitting on the floor and walking back over to sit back down. He tries to remain calm, while going through a mental list. A list of things he intends on doing to his so called friend. Once he finally gets out of here of course. Every now and then he hears the sound of a door opening and snaps his eyes open. Hoping this is when the guard will walk over and open the door, telling him he can leave. But the large hallway becomes quiet again. Apart from the drunks shouting at one another from the drunk tank. Further down at the other end of the long dimly lit hallway. He closes his eyes again and goes back to his list, while grinding his teeth and swearing under his breath about how typical this all was. Murdoc is finally released. Two and a half hours later. His reason for being so late? He'd got engaged in a conversation with another friend, and just plain forgot all about him and what he was supposed to be doing. But he had remembered to bring Murdoc the bottle of Scotch.

A few days later. Murdoc is sitting on a set of stone steps outside a library. Smoking a cigarette and talking to some of his more questionable friends. He jokes about this and that and occasionally makes rather rude remarks, to pretty girls as they walk by. Suggesting various things he wishes them to do to his and his friends. Making his friends laugh loudly at his antics and daring. A car drives slowly by and almost stops directly in front of them. Murdoc looks up briefly. But it drives off again and up the road. He shrugs and turns his attention back to his friends. So he doesn't see the car make a quick U-Turn and head back in his direction. It pulls up just across the road from where Murdoc and his friends are sitting. And a man steps out scratching his head. He watches Murdoc for a moment and runs the back of his hand across his five o'clock shadow. Then moving to the back of the car. Opens the back door and rummages around inside. Taking out a sketch book, he shuts the door again and moves around the front of the car to the pavement. Dropping the sketch book on the bonnet of his car and opening it to a clean page. He looks up again at Murdoc and takes in his features. Quickly running the pencil across the page as he makes a quick sketch of him. Murdoc is far too busy making his friends laugh and arguing with them about this and that. So he doesn't notice the strange itchy man across the road. After a while, the man closes the sketch book. Picking it up, he makes his way back to the drivers side door. He opens the door again and with just one more look in Murdocs direction, tosses the book on the passenger seat. He gets back in the car, and drives away. Leaving Murdoc to continue doing whatever it is, that Murdoc does best.

Another brilliant performance by Durango 95. After the show, Murdoc makes his way to the bar and orders himself a drink. Sitting down on one of the stools and smiling to himself. As a small gaggle of giggling young girls come over, and begin hanging off his arms. Asking for his autograph and telling him how brilliant he is. He collects a few of their phone numbers and relaxes into his new role. This was so much more like it. Every day from this moment on, should be the same for him now. Just a lot bigger. A few moments later, the lead Guitarist approaches him and sits down. After a moment he begins to talk to Murdoc in a rather serious tone. Murdoc s temperament shifts and he turns his blazing eyes on the guy. Standing up and shouting back at him. Making threatening gestures with his hands. The Guitarist stands and shouts back. Suddenly both men explode in a flurry of fists, bristling with rage. The barman walks over and shouts at them to take their argument outside, before he calls the Old Bill. Murdoc grabs the Guitarist by the front of his shirt and before the guy can react. Physically drags him out the door. Shouting how he was going to show this guy no one can talk to him like that. Not if they wanted to stay pretty anyway. Sitting in a booth in one of the dimly lit corners of the room. Sits the same itchy man from the other day. Watching Murdoc storm out, while he sips his drink and continues sketching him madly.

Murdoc stands at the front door, holding a parcel he's just received from the Church of Satan. He'd saved up the entrance fee and finally had sent it in. After an interview and such, they have now sent him a plainly wrapped parcel in the mail. But Murdoc recognizes the return address and knows who the package is from. He smiles and takes the parcel inside. Making his way up the stairs and into his room, shutting the door with his foot as he sits heavily down on his bed. He tears it open eagerly and looks inside. There are quite a few things in the box. But the two things that really attract his immediate attention. Are an identity card with the church logo and his name emblazoned on the front. And a small black velvet pouch. He opens it and shakes the contents into his hand. A gold inverted crucifix drops out. His eyes shine as he holds it up, watching as the light moves across its dull surface. 'Now this is more like it.' He smiles and walks over to his full length mirror Taking off the inverted crucifix he'd had a friend make for him when he'd decided to become a Satanist in the first place. He feeds off the old one from the long strip of leather and replaces it with his new one. Retying the ends and dropping the necklace around his neck. Now he had the real thing, he'd wear that instead. He admires himself and decides he now looks so much more official and somehow now feels somewhat complete. 'Is this the final stage?' He wonders as he looks down at his new possession and runs his fingers over the surface. 'Has the true Murdoc Faust Niccals finally been born?' He shrugs and packs away the other things from the box. Looking back up and taking one last look in the mirror. Perfect as ever. He smiles, giving himself a wink. He realizes that only time will tell if he really has entered the end game.

Murdoc steps from another club he's managed to get a gig for his band in. Placing a cigarette in his mouth, he's about to light it when he looks up and sees the itchy man again. He pauses mid action, not lighting the cigarette for the moment, instead slitting his eyes and drawing his lips up over his shark like teeth. It's been two months since the strange little man had first started following him. And Murdoc had finally seen him. And while interested in the attention at first. He'd been steadily becoming more and more annoyed with him. It wasn't that he was actually bothered about being followed. It was more that he had no idea what the little man was really doing. Every time he'd gotten close enough to ask the little man, he'd panicked and had jumped back in his car. Gunning the engine and speeding away. He snarls and snatching the cigarette from his lips, Murdoc suddenly breaks into a run. Determined to catch the little man and beat him within an inch of his life. Then ask him what the fuck he was doing! The man spots him and yelps. Leaping into his car and driving away yet again. But this time, Murdoc gets close enough to the car that he could touch it. So he angrily punches the door as it tears past him.

"Yeah fuck off ya pervert!" Murdoc shouts in annoyance after the speeding car. "I'll get ya next time. You just wait and see you bastard!" He smiles regardless and places the cigarette back between his lips, lighting it. Although he was annoyed about yet again not having caught the guy. He did feel pretty proud about having his own private stalker. It was almost as if he'd been given confirmation of his greatness. Not everyone can say they have one. So he wasn't completely angry with the strange, hairy little man. There will be other times he could try to catch him, he was sure of that. Because this guy was pretty darned persistent. He draws on the cigarette and plunging his hands in his pockets, steps off the road and heads down the path towards the local pub to meet up with a few friends for a night of booze and jokes about women.

Murdoc wakes up early on the day of his thirtieth birthday. Ack! Thirty and still living in his dads house. Un-fuckin' believable. If it wasn't for the fact his dad tended to behave more like a landlord than a real father. That would be something to be extremely embarrassed about. He slides out of the bed and heads to the bathroom. Moving over to the sink and dropping in the plug. Filling the basin with cold water, he looks up at his reflection and makes a face. He felt awful and he looked it. A combination of too much booze and too much Cocaine from the night before. Was now revealing itself in his wonderful features. He shakes his head and turns off the tap. The Coke has affected him too much. His eyes are sunken and black, his green skin is pasty and pale. Drawn down over his cheekbones, and giving him a skull like look. 'UGH! Gotta do summink about that. Time to stop I'd say.' Reminding himself of the promise he made to himself, about never letting the drug rule him or prevent him from gaining world wide success. He takes a handful of cold water and splashes his face with it. Then takes another look. It doesn't make all that difference but it does wake him up. He looks down at the water and decides to go all in. Dunking his face in the sink and holding it under for a while. Eventually running out of air, he snatches his head up and takes a deep breath. Looking back in the mirror, he can see a marked improvement. Much better. But he's still stopping Coke for a week anyway. He runs his fingers through his wet hair and heads over to the toilet singing happy birthday to himself. Circling the bowl with a steady stream of urine. He decides what he is going to do for the rest of the day.

"Well first. I'm doin' this." He chuckles and finishes up, giving his member a quick shake before putting it back in his dirty underpants. "Then? Hmm? I might go in there and give that cute seventeen year old another quick shag. Mmm. She was pretty good actually. Heh, heh. Lovely." He slits his eyes and hisses like a snake. Then walks slowly back towards his bed room. Stopping in the doorway to watch the young girl sleep. He listens to her gentle snoring for a while, then takes the corner of his blanket in his fingers. Slowly sliding it from her naked young body. Revealing it all to him. She shivers a little and rolls over, but doesn't wake up. He smiles and pulls the blanket down to the floor. Dropping the corner of the blanket again, in a rather grandiose manner. Then stepping away from the door studies his nails, as he slowly walks to the head of the bed to watch her face. Crouching down beside the bed and keeping his steady gaze on her. If she'd been awake, that might of given her the clue that she'd stayed just a bit too long.

"Then I might send her packing?" He smiles and runs his fingers along a knife embedded in the wall. Closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of the cold steel against his fingers. He opens them and looks back once again at the still sleeping girl. "Might. And then maybe have a talk with ol' Beelzebub and see what the hold up is with my fame and fortune?" He smiles and stands up. Sliding the knife from the wall, and walking steadily back to the door. He grins evilly and slowly shuts the door. Shutting out the world to what he was about to do.


	19. Chapter 19

Murdoc stares angrily out of his bedroom window. He'd been up most of the night, trying to get in contact with Beelzebub. But after talking to several minor Demons, and being put on hold for and hour. He had eventually come to the conclusion, that Satan wasn't taking any calls. 'Bastard'! He butts out his cigarette and tosses it indignantly out the window. Immediately lighting up another one in frustration. He swears and begins sucking on his long thumbnail, trying to work out what the go was with the old pointy one. Surely he'd built up some rapport with him. After all, he was taking care of the bastards Bass guitar. He shoots a quick look at the wardrobe where he'd been storing it. Then heads over to make sure it was still there. Pulling open the door, he sees the dooner he'd thrown over it to protect it from dust and lifts the corner, carefully peeking underneath. It was still there. Murdoc slides his fingers over the strings and sighs. As he feels the power of the guitar, running through them and into his hand. Lovely sensation. Almost sexual you know? He carefully replaces the dooner cover and shuts the cupboard door. High stepping a little, and shaking his leg. Trying to step out the fact that, that one touch had started making him erect. Maybe more than just almost sexual then? Whatever. It dies away eventually and he gets back to complaining bitterly to himself. He had guessed that there had been a learning curve attached to his deal. So he did see that, that would be a pretty big factor in him obtaining his fame and fortune. But it just seemed to be 'taking so fucking long'. This was the crux of his problem. Why so long? Surely there was nothing left to learn? He'd done it all now. Hadn't he? If he could just get him to talk to him again, then he'd be able to find out and get to it. But Beelzebub wasn't answering any more. Fine. He'll just have to stop questioning it and just get back to taking whatever necessary steps forwards he had to. Really, it was the only thing he could do. Given HIM downstairs wasn't giving him any more clues.

He can now plainly see the alliances are steadily beginning to shift in his band. They were good. Really good. And the worst part of it was they knew it to. He was quite happy with how everything had been moving along for him. And happy he'd finally found a band that was as passionate about all this as he was. The only thing he wasn't happy about, was their constant whining about his ability to sing. 'Oh fuck off! That old chestnut again'? Yet more blind, tone deaf fools to add to his list. His voice was unique, and it obviously needed a unique vision to comprehend just how incredible it truly was. Far too ahead of it's time seemed to be the problem. He wondered how many people had been caught out with the lack of foresight. He knew there were a few, but just how many? The number just seemed to escape him and he shakes his head. Enough. That was all that he needed to know. One day they're saying the artists aren't good enough. Or the song doesn't seem to have enough. Or the album doesn't make sense. Then suddenly a few years later, it all clicks into place. And the same morons that said Boo! Are suddenly falling all over themselves, kissing the artists arse. And telling him they always knew it was going to be great. 'Liars'! They were as daft as the rest of the talentless hordes out there. As if the artist doesn't know what they're doing. 'How idiotic would you haffta be?' He spits venomously into his mind and slumps his weight forwards, crossing his ankles and resting his chin on the back of his forearms. Pearls before swine. That's all it is really. He sighs and starts quietly singing David Bowies 'Starman' to himself. He'd felt that way himself a few times. "Waiting in the sky." For for all the morons on the ground to finally look up and see how insignificant they were, to a God like him. One day they'll recognize it. Of course by then it'll be far too late. Back to his problems with Durango 95. 'Drop them before they drop you. Idiots'! He grins deviously and leans down to the floor, picking up the bottle of Scotch he'd been drinking . And throwing back his head, sculls what is left. 'One day.'

He finally arrives at the last gig he'll ever perform with Durango and says goodbye. The band are furious with him, but what could they do? He wasn't listening to them any more, and they were just a bunch of whinging pansies to him now anyway. How were they going to continue without him and his influence over people? They didn't have even one of his contacts. So they'd never be able to convince even half of the people he'd spoken to. To give them the same deals he'd gotten. Even if they could get in contact with them. Let alone be able to write the songs and the music. And get them into the clubs and pubs, without arguments? Ha! Fat chance! He turned out to be right about all that to. Three months later. Durango 95 was history. Back to Murdoc. Now he was ghosting around feeling a bit lost. He'd beaten them to the punch and gotten rid of them. Before they turned tails on him. But he still couldn't help feeling bothered by it. His mood continues to spiral down, until finally he finds himself standing next to a small table at one of those drug parties he'd been avoiding.

He looks around and asks himself, why he's really here? This was no place for him. All this was going to do is take him one giant leap backwards. Especially given his feelings of wanting to shove up to half a kilo of anything into his body right now. This was nothing more than a good way to destroy himself. All that hard work. Was he really going to allow himself to do that? 'Defeatist! Not good enough Mudsie boy.' He knew he was better than that. Suddenly one of the junkies announces to the room that he can fly. And jumps straight through a closed window. Falling two stories to the ground far below. Murdoc looks down at the Crack Pipe he'd just picked up. And carefully puts it straight back down again. That was the reason why he shouldn't. 'Never again'. He stands up and walks out onto the balcony to take a look at the "Superman" on the ground below. And takes a deep cleansing breath at the same time. He watches as a few of the stoned idiots approach the body. One of them poking it with a stick. He laughs and feels better about the fact he at least still has his sense of humour. Eventually he makes his way back inside and grabs a bottle of Whiskey from the table. Turning down a few offers of this or that strange substance. 'Will power'. He was doing fine. Eventually he sits down by one of the many coffee tables. And watches a girl unravel a small parcel. She places what looks to be a few pieces of crushed ice, on a dish in the middle of the table. Murdoc had heard a lot about the drug and the different methods people used to take it with. Snorting, smoking or the less frequently used method of 'plugging'. He had heard that 'plugging' was a great way of really boosting your sexual pleasure. But he felt that he certainly didn't need any kind of drug to boost his performance. Besides. The idea of, 'shoving that shit up yer arse just to get yer jollies'. seemed a bit on the unnecessary side. He looks around the room and realizes that everything else happening here, was a bit on the unnecessary side as well. He waves it all off and turns his attention back to the girl, as she crushes up the crystal and makes a line on the table with it. He swigs from the bottle in his hand and leans back on the lounge behind him for support. She looks up at him and gives him a dazed smile, offering to let him have the first line. He turns her down and watches as she snorts it up. After a moment or so, he reaches out and picks up one of the crystals, turning it around in his fingers. Then puts it back down again, and runs his finger through the faint trail of dust the girl had left on the table. He takes another swig from his bottle. A fight breaks out on the other side of the room. Murdoc cranes his neck to see, but it quickly dies down again. And he shrugs and goes back to getting quietly drunk.

He opens his eyes about an hour later, and realizes he'd dozed off there. He yawns and stretches, shoving his fingers in his eyes and rubbing them. Suddenly he's struck in the face with intense burning pain. It feels like someone has shoved a white hot poker in his eye. He takes the back of his hand and rubs harder, but it just seems to make the feeling worse. He jumps up and blindly runs through the room, knocking people over. Heading for the kitchen. A burst of brilliant light, blinding him in that eye. What the fuck was it? He pours water over his burning pupil, desperately washing the burning substance out. After a while the pain dulls a little, but he can't see out of that eye at all now. He staggers out of the room, pressing his way past the nosy onlookers. Heading outside, he steals a car and heads for home. He just has to get away from there. The headlights of the oncoming cars, feel like they're trying to burrow into the core of his brain. And it doesn't take long before he ends up crashing the car. Fortunately for him. He crashed it into a wall, just a few houses down from where he lives. All he can see out of that eye is an intense spot of brilliant boiling light. Even with them closed. What the fuck was it? Making his way to the front door, he fumbles with his keys. Desperately trying to see beyond the bright light in his vision. Finally he finds the right one and pushes open the door. Heading straight up stairs to his room and dropping heavily onto his bed. The room sways back and forth as his head prickles in pain. Suddenly he remembers what he did.

"Oh fuck! I had that Ice shit on my finger. Idiot!" He rolls onto his side and tries to blink back the pain, his head swimming from the affects of the Crystal Meth. Eventually he falls asleep many hours later, deciding never to go back to the drug house again. And if anybody asked him why he'd shoved Crystal Meth in his eye. He'd just tell them he'd done it on purpose. 'No sense in letting them know I made a mistake. Actually I didn't really. I just err? Got caught up in the things around me and well. Fergot. Anyone can make a mistake. Even an amazing chap like me. Heh, heh.'

He wakes up the next morning and opens his eyes. The pain is thankfully for the most part gone. But the bright light is still there. Not as intense, but enough to be really annoying. He slides out of bed and walks slowly over to his full length mirror. He keeps his head bowed so that he can take his time looking at whatever damage the Meth may of caused. If any. He takes a deep breath and slowly looks up. His eye is extremely blood shot, and the pupil seemed to of gone a deep blood red. He looks at it closely and takes a step forwards. 'Actually. That ain' half bad.' He grins at the sight and nods.

"Here was I thinkin' you couldn't improve on perfection. Looks like you can and I just keep gettin' better and better. RRRRavashin' Mudsie. RRRRavashin'. Ahaw, haw, haw." He chuckles to himself and flexes his muscles, before heading into the toilet for a slash. As far as he is concerned. Having such a distinctive look, will put him way out there, in the truly memorable department. Who could possibly take one look at this Stallion of a man before them. And just not remember him? He takes off his sweaty shirt and flexes his muscles in the mirror. Turning to one side to check out his tight abdominals. Right now he could honestly tell you, he looked so good. If were at all possible, he'd have to throw himself down on the ground and shag himself mercilessly. He turns and checks out his bum. In fact, if sometime in the not too distant future, if he ever did come across a way....?

After finally visiting an optometrist and discovering the damage to his eye is permanent. And that from that day on his pupil will always be a deep blood red. He spends some time thinking long and hard about all the complaints he'd heard about his singing voice. Murdoc caves in. Very unwillingly of course. Although his managerial, song writing and Guitar work are perfect. It seems to be the one and only thing that people tend to bring up. Which tends to lead to him wanting to bring his lunch up. So maybe he did have to just let it go. Pity. Because that meant that future audiences would never be able to hear the true sound of perfection. 'Cretins. Bunch of useless...'. So he decides that it is now time to start again at the very top. And not here in the piss poor hamlet of Stoke-on-Trent. Nope. He was taking things much further afield. And where you may ask would that be? Oh well, he hadn't thought that bit out yet. But if you give him a sec'? Murdoc makes his way over to a box of maps he has. And pulls out one that shows all of England. He opens it out and checks it over. Before walking it over to the wall. Taking some Scotch tape. He awkwardly tapes it to the wall and steps back again. Running his tongue over his razor sharp teeth. Walking back to the doorway, he yanks a knife from the wall beside his bed. Then turns around again, facing the map. Closing his eyes. Murdoc tosses the knife at the map. Hearing it thunk heavily into the wall, he opens his eyes again And walks over to see where it had landed. 'Essex'.

"Essex? Why the bloody Hell there? There's nothin' in Essex! Oh well. At least I have a forward plan and the determination and talent to take me there. Essex it is then." He shrugs and heads off to begin starting his plan. To take himself and his dream onwards to a much brighter place. Even if it was in Essex. "No really. Why the fuck Essex"?

A few days later. Murdoc sits quietly on the end of his bed with his note book. Furiously writing the lyrics of a song that had just come to him, as he'd walked up the stairs. He found himself writing another of those songs that seem to just write themselves. But this time, he seemed to have some of the Bass beat moving back and forth in his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hear the other instruments in the back ground. All he really had were just words on a page. But he knew this was the basis of a pretty fine song. He just didn't have anything else to really go with it at the moment. This was now the third song he'd written like this. He finishes the last word and picks up the book. Staring at the song and trying to make sense of it. Maybe if he reads it out loud it would help?

"Can't stand yer loneliness." He reads back to himself, as he stares incredulously the finished work. Shaking his head and putting it down again in front of him. He taps the note book with the pen and stares at the wall. He could always just throw something together and make it into a real song. Not just a bunch of words? He'd done that before when he needed a song in a hurry. So it wasn't that hard to do. He knew better though. That was not the best way to write a song. But it worked if you had nothing else, and didn't really care much about quality. But he had found that every time he'd tried to do that with the other two. He'd always come up with a blank page. 'Nothing. Frustrating. Why were these three songs so different from all the others'? He grabs his note book and opens it to the back page where he kept the other two. Taking them out, he reads a random line from each to himself.

"My Mama said to slow down.... Every bodies here with me." 'What the fuck was so...'? He pauses as the next word seems to sparkle in his mind. Like it was trying desperately to tell him something. 'Special'? He stops and stares at each of the three songs. His eyes falling on them each in turn. Not one of them had titles yet either. Because it seemed no matter how hard he tried, he'd never been able to give any of them one. It was almost like an invisible hand had kept pulling his hand away, every time he'd tried to do something with them. 'Special'? Were these the songs who were going to make him famous? Is that why he couldn't complete them? Because he just wasn't ready yet? He stares at them, thinking hard, as he involuntarily finds himself nodding. 'Yes! That is it! That's why'! He smiles and slides the new song in the back of the book with the others, and closes the note book. Standing up and returning it to it's place on the shelf near his altar. He pats it affectionately and purrs, as though he was soothing a frightened child.

"Don't you worry now. Not too long before you and I are making beautiful music together. My lovelies. Ahaw, haw, haw." He walks back to the door and heads back down the stairs. Having decided to go out and celebrate his new found confidence. Because he hadn't been abandoned afterall. Something out there was guiding him towards his stardom. And now he was so close he could feel it reaching it's arms out to him. Ready to take him in an embrace he had no intention of ever trying to escape from. Nestled against her. With his face pressed firmly into the warm soft breasts of fame and glory herself. And he even had the beginnings of three hit songs to prove it. He just knew it. He makes his way down the stairs and over to the front door. Taking one last look towards the direction of his bedroom. He sighs and opens the door, making his way out into the street. A few houses down, he can't help but punch the air in pure bliss. Murdoc Niccals was well and truly on his way to the top.


	20. Chapter 20

After having a long talk with his no so very nice bunch of goonish friends. Murdoc has finally convinced them to help him with his latest schemes. In his mind, the quicker he can get things together here. The quicker he can drag his arse out of that shit water little hovel known as Stoke-on-Trent. Never willing to part with his money unless absolutely necessary. Murdoc has managed to horde away a pretty fair amount of money. So cash wise he's OK. Not wealthy by any means, but he considered the amount was enough to keep him reasonably comfortable for a while. Other peoples money. Now that he was willing to spend. And although he could really get you your moneys worth. Many found themselves wishing he didn't do it so often. One of the things that played around in his devilish mind, was rent. Now if he didn't have to keep paying rent. That would give him even more to spend on more necessary things. Namely himself of course. But how could he get out of that? Live under a bridge, like some nasty little Troll? Un-bloody-likely. Maybe if he could find a caravan or something? He shrugs and decides he'll work that out a little later. He continues reading the newspaper sitting on the floor in front of him, as he chews on the pen in his mouth. 'Hm? Something tells me a crash and dent sale is on the books?' He smiles to himself, as he circles an advertisement in the paper for a shop in Crawley. "Uncle Norms Organ Emporium" He reads to himself. 'I wonder what the boys would say to a little road trip?' He chuckles and tears the add from the page. Closing the paper, he stands up and takes the ad to the map still Scotch taped to his wall. Picking up the tape, he tears off a strip and tapes the ad to the map. Now all that's left is to find a Singer. He winces at the thought and waves it off. 'Maybe after I get a bit more drunk? Eh?' And grabbing his jacket, he switches off the light, heads out of his room and down the stairs. Making his way down to the pub to meet up with some of his friends.

After a night of breaking and entering. Murdoc and his hoodlums leg it in a stolen Mini. Now the Mini wasn't his idea of course. He wanted something a little more substantial. But the guys? Ponces. He did have to admit that the Mini did take corners pretty well. And they had managed to get well ahead of the Cop car that had been chasing them for about the last half hour or so. Murdoc expertly tears the car around another corner and flies past a used car lot. Suddenly, out the corner of his eye. Something in the yard catches his attention. He hits the brakes hard, causing the guys in the back seat to fly forwards, banging their knees into the seats in front of them. Ignoring their complaints. Murdoc tears the car into reverse and backs up, stopping again in front of the allotment. He sits there for a moment. Staring open mouthed at something in the yard.

"Hells Bells! That's perfect!" He shouts. And grabs a piece of paper from his pocket, quickly jotting down the address. He shoves the paper back in his pocket and hits the accelerator. Speeding off again as the Cop car suddenly comes into view. Screeching around the corner back in pursuit of them. Murdoc laughs and speeds up. Tearing the car around another corner at break neck speed, and nearly side swiping a parked car. It's not like the Judge will do anything more than what he normally does. A quick respite in jail, before he's bailed and can get back to more pillaging and mayhem. Ha! What does he care? Sure enough. Murdoc is back before the Judge. But this time it's a little different. The furious Judge tells him he's tired of trying to give Murdoc an opportunity to clean his act up. And this is the very last time he'll offer him a chance at redemption. Next time he appears before him. Murdoc is going to wish he hadn't. Murdoc smiles and waves it off. 'Yeah whatever, you old fossil.' He thinks and is taken down to wait for his bail to arrive.

As soon as he gets out of jail. He and one of the gang steal another car. And head back to the used car lot, that Murdoc had written down on the piece of paper. The car pulls up out the front, and Murdoc practically leaps out and runs into the yard. Heading straight for his find. The salesman walks over and starts feeding him the usual salesman blah, blah. But Murdoc can't hear him. He's too busy looking around inside the vehicle. Opening cupboard doors and running his hands over all the surfaces, almost as if expecting that in any minute it would vanish. And he'd find this had all been a dream. He asks the sales man how much, without so much as looking at him. The sales man shrugs and gives him a figure. Without even a flinch. Murdoc accepts. The salesman raises an eye brow. But doesn't say anything. Murdoc follows him back to the office and fills in the necessary paper work. Then heads back to the car with his friend and they make their way home. All he had to do now, was to wait for the appropriate transfers to go through, so he can come back and claim his prize.

"Are ya sure Muds? It was pretty....?" His friend begins to ask, but cuts it short as he catches the evil stare on Muds face, at the mere suggestion that his decision needed questioning. "Err? OK. If that's wotcha want? I'll shuddup then." He adds nervously. Murdoc turns his attention back to the road ahead. And continues the journey back to the car park, where he and his friend stole the car from. That's right! It was his money. And he'd spend it on whatever he wanted. And as far as he could see, it was money well spent.

Jacob is just heading out the front gate of his house. When a large Winnebago pulls up and parks in a spot in front of him. He looks up briefly at it and mutters a few swear words. Wrinkling his long nose in disgust and annoyance. The driver steps out and approaches him. Jacob startles when he realizes who it is. Murdoc. His son smiles and gestures grandly back at the large mustard colored vehicle, with open arms.

"Whatcha think eh? It's a beauty ain' it?" He proudly asks the indignant old man. Jacob shuts the gate and approaches the vehicle. Walking all the way around it and shaking his head. He finally walks back up to Murdoc who is standing on the footpath by the house gate, looking proudly over at his new possession.

"It's ugly! Just like you. So you'll make a fine couple. Now git rid of it!" Jacob snarls at his son, spitting on the ground by Murdoc s foot. He turns and walks away up the footpath, heading to his new girlfriends house. Leaving Murdoc fuming by the gate. Giving the old two finger salute. Murdoc sneers and walks back over to the Winnebago and embraces it. He gently pats the windscreen and gives it a little kiss.

"Don' you listen to the old fucker. He has no sense of style. Yer beautiful to me." He coos and turns back to the house. Heading inside to remove his belongings and pack them away in the vehicle. This was his home now. And in his eyes, she was perfect. A true reflection of everything that he was. And he couldn't think of anywhere he'd ever want to be than here. HIS home. A real home. He dubs his new love 'The Winnie' And that night, in his new home. He finally sleeps. A true, comfortable, soundless sleep. Nothing could ever hurt him in here. Here was where he truly felt he belonged and as far as he was concerned, nothing else would ever matter. So long as he had his Winnie, his Bass, and himself. Screw everybody else. Because now for the first time in his whole life. He was happy.

To make just a little more quick cash. Making up for the money he'd spent on the Winnie. Murdoc gathers together one last band, before he embarks on his new venture into stardom. He doesn't really care much how good or bad the band is. As it's more just a way of making money than anything. So he doesn't put all that much effort into making them sound extremely well polished. He knew what needed to be done and he would do it. Soon as he's got everything in place and can put all this other rubbish behind him. Simple really. Two's a Crowd. In his mind, the name was more a snide remark at the up and coming singer he was hoping to find soon. One last chance for the world to hear his remarkable singing voice. Before it was silenced forever. Well maybe not forever. But it would take a fair bit of grovelling before he'd ever let them hear it again. They had their chance! He makes his cash and breaks up the band. And now ready to begin the next stage of his plan. Namely to get the equipment he'd need to really get things moving. He and the gang steal a car and head for Crawley.

Driving to the address on the ad that Murdoc had torn from the newspaper. Murdoc slowly makes his way around the many nearby streets. Making a quick mental map of the area. Where all the alleyways, one way streets, dead ends and back roads were. So they could make a quick getaway after and not have to worry about getting lost. Once done. Murdoc drives the car to a vacant allotment and sets fire to it. Running away and searching around for another car. They find a Vauxall Astra and break in. Making their way back towards the shop. Building up enough speed, so the momentum will carry the car straight through the front window of the shop. Simple plan really. Smash in. Dent up some stuff. Leg it and come back later to buy the stuff at half price. Easy!

The shop appears up ahead and the gang brace themselves for impact. Murdoc slits his eyes and grips the steering wheel tight in his taloned hands. Licking his lips and smiling with glee, he presses down on the accelerator harder. Trying to push the car to maximum. The engine roars, as it tears along the road. Heading straight for the shop window. It hits the gutter and is launched into the air. Smashing into the shop window full on. For a moment, everything seems to slow down. The sound of the engine roaring, the glass as it tinkles through the air. Echoing for what seems like hours. As the body of the car moves through it. Fragments of glass tumble end over end. Smashing into the car again and breaking into even smaller pieces. Falling down around the car like glittering snow flakes. The interior of the shop moves past. Flowing almost like a river. The front bumper of the car lands a glancing blow against a large piano. The instrument partially exploding and showering the car in splinters of wood. Amps stacked neatly near it are punched further into the shop. Knocking over several nearby synthesizers. Murdoc turns his attention back to the front of the car, and suddenly sees the shocked face of a blue haired young man and a couple of customers. The customers leap gracefully aside. Their bodies arcing through the air like acrobats. But the blue haired young man is frozen in fear. His face disappears from view under the car as it continues it's journey through the shop.

The scene returns to normal speed as the cars tires connect with the ground again. And bounces to a stop at the back of the shop. Murdoc is frozen for a moment at the wheel and doesn't hear the car doors open. He suddenly begins to chuckle. The chuckle slowly building until finally he's wracked by uncontrollable laughter. He slaps the steering wheel and turns to ask the gang what they though of the look on that blue idiots face, as he hit him with the car. That was when he finally noticed they were no longer there. The cowards had legged it! He shrugs and still laughing, kicks the car door open and steps out to investigate the damage he'd caused. He makes his way to the front of the shop and stops at the crumpled body of the blue haired young man. Murdoc pokes him with the toe of his boot and flips him onto his back. His face is covered in blood. The most notable feature is it appears that one of the young mans eyes has been knocked further into the back of his head. Murdoc can't contain himself. He doubles over, pointing and laughing at the sight. His sides aching. He can't believe it. He bounced a car off this idiots head. The young man groans suddenly. And Murdoc stops laughing, staring hard at him and wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He suddenly bursts out laughing again. He bounced a car off this idiots head and the idiot lives! He drops to his knees unable to stand because of how much he's laughing. Slapping the ground and finally rolling onto his side. Clutching his stomach, unable to stop laughing. Suddenly a pair of handcuffs are slapped onto Murdoc s wrists, And two policemen drag the still laughing Murdoc to his feet. Hauling him off to the police car that is waiting outside.

Murdoc sits in the back of the car still chuckling. He looks over at the amount of damage he caused to the shop. He slowly manages to regain control and realizes he might actually be in real trouble this time. That of course is depending on whether the Judge meant what he said. Would he really regret it this time. He watches as the body of the blue haired young man is loaded into the back of a waiting ambulance. And not being able to stop himself, starts giggling again. Then settles back to wait for the police to return, after taking the statements of the customers from the shop. Would he really have to pay this time? He shakes his head and chuckles again. 'Nah! Whats he gunna do? Put me in jail? Pfft! Go ahead. I can take anythin'! I am Murdoc Niccals mate! And I am the greatest thing this whole world will ever know!' He smiles and stares at the back of the seat in front of him. Confident that nothing will ever stop that now.

_"__**And that was the day when I met Faceache. I mean Stuart Pot. Of course later., well that changed you see. I was doing 360s down at the car park at Tescos. And he ended up denting the other eye when....? Well. That's another story isn't it? This story is about yours truly. And a much better one anyway, in my opinion. Besides, you all know what happened next. Don't you? I got my incredible career soaring and rising through the stratosphere, and beyond. Faceache got a new name. And the rest is history. And who better to tell you my story than me. Murdoc Niccals. The most amazing performer in all the world! NO! The universe. You know it. I know it. And don't you forget it."**_

_**Up yers. Mr M Niccals.**_


	21. Chapter 21 Me and 2D

Murdoc sits quietly at the table on his side of the courtroom. A representative of the blue haired young man he had run over. Sits on the other side of the room, looking angrily at him. His nose crinkled in disgust. Murdoc raises an unseen eyebrow and rolls his eyes. 'What was that idiot thinking in looking at him like that?' He looks down at his attire and shrugs. Then up at his lawyer, who is looking at him almost as equally disgusted. His lawyer leans over and whispers in the young mans ear.

"Where's the suit I bought for you to wear?" The man asks. Murdoc interlaces his fingers behind his head and leans back heavily on his chair. He looks up at the high ceiling for a moment, and studies the decorative ceiling rose high above him. 'Is that what those looks were about?' He looks down at the T-shirt he is wearing. It's white, with a comical alien holding a splif. The caption reads. 'Take me to your dealer.' One sleeve is torn across the shoulder, and is being held together by a couple of safety pins. And there's a stain, possibly blood, on the left side, just under Murdos breast bone. His eyes fall to his black denim jeans. Both knees have holes in them and they are very tight. Murdocs favourites, as they accentuate, his bulge. He looks over at his lawyer briefly and shrugs.

"You ain' gittin' me in that monkey suit. Besides. You and I know what's gunna happen. The Judge is just gunna send me to lock-up, and I'll be out by mornin'. I have a feeling this guy really likes me. And who can blame him. I'm magnificent." Murdoc sneers confidently, and begins rocking his weight back and forth on the back legs of his chair. His lawyer sighs and bows his head. Realizing that Murdoc just didn't seem to be taking any of this seriously, and knowing there was little point in going over any of it again with him.

The Judge makes his way into the room and over to his chair. His desk high on a platform in the absolute centre of the room, positioned much higher than everyone else. Making him look far more prominent, and forcing Murdoc and the others to look up at him. He sits down and puts on a pair of wire rimmed glasses. Opening a folder in front of him and reading it briefly, while listening to the court clerk read out the list of charges against Murdoc. For a moment the Bassist is pleased as he listens to them himself. But his delight drops just a little as he sees the look of disgust on the judges face, change to pure anger. He tips his chin down to the young man before him and slowly shakes his head. Peering at him from over the tops of his wire rim glasses.

"I suppose you're going to say 'not guilty'? Right?" The judge flatly asks him. Murdoc shrugs and almost yawns. Which does nothing but irritate the judge further. "You didn't listen to me. Did you Mr Niccals? I said if you ever stood in my court room again. I was going to make you pay. And I meant that." The Judge snarls back, pointing at him with his gavel. A cold chill makes it's way down Murdoc s back. But the Bassist shakes it off, refusing to be intimidated by anything the Judge had to say. The court proceedings begin.

At the end of the day, after listening and looking carefully at the evidence. And having heard all the witnesses. Murdoc s lawyer gives the closing arguments and they wait patiently for the Judge to give his final verdict. Somehow, Murdoc has still remained pretty confident that once again he is going to be let off with just another slap on the wrist. But not this time. Murdoc s actions had caused someone physical harm and permanent injury. It was pretty obvious to the Judge that the Niccals boy had no intention of changing his ways. And had so far not shown any remorse at all, for his actions. As the shop owner had proceeded to give his evidence on what he had seen on the day. Murdoc had actually started laughing. In fact, as Norm had described the way Murdoc s stolen Vauxall had struck Stuart Pot, and knocked the youth across the room. Murdoc had even gone so far as applaud and shout "encore". As far as the Judge was concerned. This was not the behaviour of someone who deserved another chance. And certainly it seemed that the young man had not deserved any of the others he had been given either. Murdoc Niccals was incorrigible . Perhaps it was because he had never been truly confronted by the harm he had caused? The Judge wonders if this is true, as he reads back over the mountain of evidence before him. He somehow seemed very detached from it all? Almost as though he didn't believe he was in anyway connected to it. Could that be the reason for his cold manner? He wondered if somehow he could make Murdoc actually feel something. He could change him yet. The Judge sighs and makes his way back into the court room. One more time round. But this time, Murdoc was the one who would have to pick up the pieces he'd left behind. Why should society keep cleaning up after the young man? No. This time, Murdoc was not only going to have to face his victim. This time! He was going to be taking care of him. The Judge stands up and walks back into the courtroom. Murdoc stands and studies his nails, waiting for the Judge to speak.

"After carefully going over all the evidence and hearing all the statements. Not to mention having watched the extreme lack of concern you seem to have for your fellow man, Mr Niccals." The Judge is briefly interrupted at this point by Murdoc suddenly breaking out in a gale of uncontrollable laughter. The Judge watches the Bassist for a moment silently. He eventually clears his throat and continues. Deliberately talking loudly so that he can still be heard over Murdoc s continuing laughter. "Yes. EXTREME lack of concern. I feel that the only way for you to truly come to terms with the amount of damage you cause to people. Will be to come into direct contact with it. I hereby sentence you to three hundred thousand hours of Community Service. Whereby you will from this point be taking charge of the care and upkeep of your victim." The Judge continues talking but Murdoc doesn't really hear him. He wrinkles his nose in confusion and looks from the Judge to his lawyer.

"What did he say?" Murdoc stammers at his lawyer. The man shushes him as the judge goes on. Murdoc staring at him blankly. A few moments later, the Bassist is snapped out of his rather shocked daze by the Judge bringing down his gavel. Murdoc is escorted from the room by his lawyer to a seat outside. "What did he say?" Murdoc repeats. His lawyer hands him a paper cup filled with water and Murdoc unaware and still in shock drinks from it. His face suddenly contorts in disgust and he spits the liquid out across the room.

"Are you tryin' to poison me or summink ya bastard!? What the fuck is this shit!?" He screams, throwing the remaining contents at the dishevelled man. His lawyer calms him down explaining it was just water, and goes on to explain what the Judgement required him to do. Murdoc of course argues that taking care of the young man was not his concern or responsibility and he had no intention of doing it. The lawyer goes on to explain that if he doesn't. Then the Judge had ordered that the Community Service would then be commuted to a possible life sentence. This makes Murdoc sit up and suddenly pay close attention. Suddenly he begins to realize he may of actually made things a little awkward for himself.

"Waaaait. Are you sayin' if I don' take care of the vegetable, I'm gunna be spendin' the rest of my life in prison?" Murdoc snarls. The lawyer sighs and nods. "That is actually what you're sayin'? I'm not just imaginin' that?" Murdoc persists, hoping that somehow the lawyer is just playing a joke on him. Murdoc realizes his hopes of fame and glory are slowly vaporizing before him. How can he become the huge star he knows he deserves to be, if he's in jail?

"Ah shit!" The Bassist spits, slumping his shoulders in defeat. "Mind you. The idiot is a vegetable. So how hard could it be really? All I haffta do when the moron's with me. Is put him in a giant nappy and that's it. I can spend the rest of my time, workin' on my brilliant career." He smiles and sits up again. But the lawyer rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Telling him that he should be very careful if that's what he's planning to do. Because the Judge had ordered periodic visits from Social Services, to check that Murdoc is carrying out his appointed duties carefully. If the young man showed even the slightest amount of neglect. Instantly Murdoc would find himself in jail. Murdoc slumps his shoulders again.

"So just because this idiot stepped out in front of my car. I haffta put my life and career on hold?! Bastard!" Murdoc snarls angrily, clenching his fists hard. The lawyer looks down at him puzzled. Trying to work out how Murdoc could imagine that the young man he'd run over, was somehow responsible for the state the Bassist had put him in. He scratches his head thinking about the evidence he had heard and wondered if maybe Murdoc had suffered some kind of brain damage himself. After all. From what it had sounded like, the whole accident seemed to of lasted mere seconds. And the car had hit the building pretty hard. Maybe Murdoc had slammed his head against the wind shield or something? He could of used that.

"According to the witnesses. It didn't sound like the young man had much of a chance to step anywhere. You ran him down?" The lawyer remarks quizzically. Murdoc stands and turns his head slowly round to face him. The lawyer looks at Murdoc and comes to the conclusion instantly that that wasn't the case. Murdoc just refused point blank to take responsibility for his actions. And had every intention of blaming others for his behaviour. He sighs and turns his face away from him.

"Pfft! No wonder I lost. I'm taking advice from an unimaginative man in a dress. You do know you were trying to convince the idiot in the front of the room I was innocent right?" He mumbles and waving him off, walks over to the window and looks out at the street below. Waiting for the other lawyer to arrive and take him to his new charge.

The other lawyer arrives a few moments later. A smug look spread wide across his face. He shakes the hand of Murdoc s lawyer and turns his attention to the fuming Bassist. Murdoc looks him up and down and finally rests his eyes back on the mans smug face. He yawns and leans his weight heavily on one hip. Waving off the whole situation, and not allowing the man any kind of satisfaction at having won the case.

"So young man. Are you ready to meet your new best mate? Actually at this point, I suppose it would be far better to call him your "Life Partner". Given that is pretty much how long you'll be taking care of him really?" The lawyer chuckles, giving Murdoc yet another smug look. Murdoc slowly turns his odd eyes on the man and stares defiantly at him. Looking deeply into the mans pupils. Suddenly the smug look drops from the mans face and he steps back a little, clutching his chest. A look of pure horror etched firmly in place of the former smug look. "Um? Y,Yes. We'll just go and... er? Yes." The lawyer stammers and quickly turns on his heel. Taking them from the court house to the waiting cars outside.

A few moments later. Murdoc is standing by the hospital bed of the blue haired young man. The young mans parents are standing outside in the corridor, looking at Murdoc through the large window. Murdoc approaches the bed and leans down. Staring at the unconscious young man. He takes a talon and carefully pulls up the edge of the taped bandage over the fractured eye. Then carefully opens the young mans eye lid and looks at the injury. Both of the lawyers who had been too busy talking to one another. To of noticed what Murdoc was doing. Suddenly they both see him, and reach over to stop him. Murdoc turns and giggles at them.

"Heh, heh. I dented his head." Murdoc roughly slaps the bandage back in place and sits down on the chair next to him. "So what am I s'pose to do with the moron then? Make sure he takes his medicine and shit?" Murdoc yawns, digging under one of his long talons with another. The doctor walks in and explains the situation to Murdoc. Telling him that Stuart is indeed in a vegetative state, and cannot do anything for himself. Whereby he would require constant care and attention. So he'd stay for the most part in the hospital, and Murdoc would be taking him for just a few hours during the day. Not that that meant Stuart still didn't require the same amount of attention from him. Murdoc looks up at him and curls his lips back over his shark-like teeth. He didn't like the idea of the word "constant" at all. This kid had already dug into his time as it was. Now he was threatening to take more of his precious time away from him? Well. If he was going to be in charge of the youth. Then he had every intention of making sure the kid paid for every second he wasted of Murdoc s time. With interest!


	22. Chapter 22

Murdoc arrives at the hospital early the next morning to pick the blue haired young man up. The first day of his punishment. What he was going to do with him? As yet Murdoc had no real idea. And in a way was glad it would only be for eight hours a day. Mind you. Finding something to do with what you could basically call a bag of cement, for eight hours a day. Was going to be tricky. He walks into the boys room and over to a wheelchair on the opposite wall. Wheeling it back to almost the side of the bed and putting on the brakes. He looks down at the unconscious boy and rests his hands on his hips.

"Gooooood mornin' body. Time to start todays adventure. I haven't exactly worked out what I'm going to be doing with you yet. But I'm sure I can come up with somethin'. SSSSo, lets be havin' ya then." He grins and placing himself beside the bed, tears the bedclothes from the boy and grabs his legs. Spinning him sharply around, till the young mans legs are dangling over the side. "Clothes?" He rubs the stubble on his chin and looks around. Seeing a small bedside cabinet, he guesses they probably are in there and opens the door. He sees a duffel bag and grins broadly. Dropping the bag on the unconscious boys lap. He opens it and rummages around inside. Taking out a pair of denim jeans and a shirt he roughly tosses them over Stuart, not really caring how they land. Then he tosses the bag back in the cabinet, slamming the door shut before looking back at the boy.

"OOOOOkaaaay? How are we gunna do this then?" Murdoc mutters, scratching his head. He removes the shirt from the boys face and reaching over, grabs him by the shoulder and struggles him to a sitting position. The boys head lolls forwards and his chin lands with a dull thump on Murdoc s shoulder. Murdoc winces at the proximity and steps away. "Ewww. Gerroff me ya poof." He snarls. Stuart slides forwards, straight off the bed to the floor. Murdoc grabs him just in time, but not before the boys knees hit the ground.

"Now wait a minute! Where do ya think yer goin'? ACK!" Murdoc struggles with the limp body, trying to get him back up on the bed. Without success. Straddling the boys sides, he strains to lift him. With Stuarts face pressed uncomfortably close to Murdocs groin. The Bassist looks down and sees, staring wide eyed at him he leaps back, letting go. "HEY!" Stuart continues his journey to the floor. The back of his head cracking hard against the side of the bed. Murdoc s shoulders droop and he juts out his chin angrily.

"RIGHT! Now listen here you." He growls, grabbing Stuarts ankles and sliding him backwards across the floor towards him. "I dunno what plans you had today. But until the stupid Judge says otherwise. I'M IN CHARGE! Got it? So stop messin' about, ya faggit." He reaches up onto the bed and grabs the boys jeans. Walking back to his ankles, he slowly feeds them on. One leg at a time and roughly pulls them up, over the knees and walking back behind the boy. He sits him up and grabbing the tops of the jeans again, lifts the boys buttocks off the floor, and bounces him down into them. He steps back and lets Stuart fall back on to his back, down onto the floor. Reaching behind him for the T-shirt. He sits him up again and shoves it over the boys head, awkwardly manipulating his limbs into the arm holes. Dropping him back to the floor. Standing up again, he walks back round to the front and looks at him. Seeing Stuarts fly is still undone. Murdoc grimaces, and looks around the room. A old man who is sharing the room with the comatose boy, stares at Murdoc s antics wide eyed. Murdoc grins back at the old man evilly.

"Hi. Ya do know yer next right?" Murdoc jokes. The old mans jaw drops and he shakes his head at the strange, green younger man in horror. Murdoc reaches down inside Stuarts jeans, and shoves his genitals down and out of the way, so he can do up the zipper. "Eww. Didn't enjoy that one little bit." He mutters, wiping his hand on the boys shirt. He heads back to the cabinet and takes out the boys socks and sand shoes. Roughly shoving them on and stepping back.

"There! Ya dressed now. And that only took...?" Murdoc looks round to the clock on the wall. "Twenty five minutes. Christ! I swear kid. Ya make it hard like this every time? I'm not gunna bother dressin' you at all. You can go naked fer all I care. Got it?" He pushes the wheel chair over to the wall and turns back to the boy. Taking a deep breath, he walks behind him and grabs him under the arm pits. Picking him up and struggling with him back to the chair. Finally placing him in, he stops and rests his weight on the arms of the chair, breathing hard. Murdoc rolls the chair away from the wall and out of the room. Looking back at the old man in the other bed.

"I'll be back in a minute to getcha. OK?" He grins. The old man pulls the sheet up over his head in fright and hides, shaking. Murdoc laughs loudly and takes his young charge outside to the car. After yet another struggle, he tosses the youth into the back seat and slams the door. Walking round to the drivers side and climbing in. The Bassist kicks the cars engine to life, and turns round in the seat to look back at the youth. Who is now half sprawled on the floor. "Fasten yer safety belt kid. We're goin' fer a little ride. Ahaw, haw, haw." He revs the engine loudly and screeching the wheels. Heads out of the hospital car park and down the road.

Murdoc meets up with a couple of his friends and they make their way down to the local park to watch girls. Murdoc drags the boy from the back seat of the car and shoulders him. His friends set themselves up under a large tree and are rather surprised. When what they at first assume to be a dead body. Is dropped heavily on the ground at their feet. Murdoc sits down and explains his predicament to them. Emphasizing how it was really all 'the bodies' fault. Before leaning back against the tree and placing his booted feet on the unconscious boy. Using him as a footstool. After spending a good four hours drinking and making a few crude remarks to the passing girls. Murdoc becomes bored with his charge. He looks about him, and takes note of the small hill that he and his friends seem to be situated on. Then smiles evilly and looks down at the motionless boy at his feet. As an equally evil plan forms in his mind.

"Oi! Wanna see how far we can roll the Dullard?" He snickers to his friends. They chuckle and nod at the idea. Egging the Bassist on. They pick him up and take the boy to the very edge of the hill, as Murdoc watches. Then step back out of the way. On the count of three, Murdoc approaches him, and shoves his foot into Stuarts side. Setting him in motion. The boy begins to roll. Slowly at first, then after a while picking up speed. He hits the bottom of the hill and continues on for a short distance. Eventually flopping awkwardly at the feet of an elderly couple. They look down at the body and the old woman screams. Pointing at him with her stick and running away, her husband close behind. Both convinced the boy is perfectly dead. Murdoc and his friends fall all over themselves laughing at the site. Then race down the hill to pick up their new toy and take him somewhere else to see if they couldn't scare a few more people.

At the end of the eight hours. Murdoc roughly brushes the boy down and tosses him back in the car. Driving him back to the hospital and undressing him again. Then loading him back into the bed. He pats the boy roughly on the head and smiles.

"Hey. Faceache. Have you ever been fishing? No? Well guess what? Tomorrow I just might take you. And the best part will be that you get to do the important part. Guess what that is?" He smiles, leaning down as if expecting the boy to respond. Stuart of course doesn't. But Murdoc continues regardless. "Ya give up hey? OK. I'll tell you then. You... Git to be the bait. Heh, heh. Now won't that be fun hey?" He chuckles to himself as he makes his way from the room. Deciding that although dressing the boy, helping with the toiletries and feeding had been hard. The rest of the day had actually been fun.


	23. Chapter 23

The last chapter.

* * *

Murdoc wakes bright and early one morning. He yawns and stretches reaching his hands up to the ceiling, and cracking his spine loudly. Dropping his hands limply onto the top of his head he smacks his lips and roughly ruffles his hair, trying to wake himself up. It's been almost six months since taking charge of the comatose Stuart Pot. And Murdoc has found the joke has worn quite thin. All he really wants to do is get his life back and leave the whole sorry situation behind him. Thirty thousand hours of community service seemed a bit harsh to him as well. Of course if you'd asked others, they would of told you it was barely enough to cover the damage the young man had done. He drags his hands down his face and shakes the last traces of sleepiness, from his head. Now wide awake, he finally gets out of bed and heads for the bathroom.

2D was resting comfortably for a comatose patient, in his bed at the hospital. When Murdoc walks in and sighs heavily. The old man in the other bed looks up at him and shudders. Picking up the magazine he'd been reading and hiding behind it. Murdoc grins as the man peeks cautiously over the top, to be sure the horrible green man wasn't heading in his direction.

"And goooood mornin' to you to. Tosser." The Bassist chuckles at the old man Moving towards the side of Stuarts bed and tearing the blankets from the boy. He sneaks another look at the old man, and sees he's still pretending to read his magazine. After the typical struggle, which usually signaled the start of the unconscious boys day. Murdoc places him in a wheelchair and steers him from the ward. He passes the front desk and smiles at the pretty nurse at the station. "Just takin' the kid out fer the day. 'Kay?" The nurse stands and calls Murdoc back.

"Excuse me. I have a few questions for you about Stuart." Murdoc balks and shudders, steering the wheelchair back to the station. But being careful to put as pleasant a smile on his face as he can. 'Questions? This can't be good.' He thinks.

"Sure luv. Fire away." He smiles, leaning his arm against the top of the large desk the nurse almost seems to be hiding behind. He watches as she shuffles a few papers around, and occasionally looks down to study his dirty talons. Almost impatiently sighing as she is cutting into his valuable time. Stuart was already doing that as it was. And he didn't see why he should allow anyone else the privilege. She looks up at him sharply on hearing him sigh, and slits her eyes angrily. Picking up a folder and opening it, she pulls out a report and begins to read it out to him.

"Since being here and in your charge. Stuart appears to have sustained the following injuries." Murdoc listens as she reads off the number of bruises, cuts and abrasions. Some minor, but others a little more substantial. After a while he becomes bored with this and waves her off, shaking his head.

"Tsk! Luv, luv. Now calm down. Look at the kid." He steps back and gestures with open arms at Stuart. And inviting her to stand and look over the desk at him. "Now that, is a boy on the move. Exclude the fact he's only a vegetable and in a wheelchair. And what have ya got? A young man who's going places. You have to understand that life just don't stop ticking when yer stuck in a dark place. It carries on. And that is exactly what young... err? Stuart should be doing as well. You can't deny the young man a bit of fun. Can you?" Murdoc looks at the young nurse harshly. She looks the young man up and down, then turns her eyes again to Murdoc. Who folds his arms over his chest and gives her an accusing look. She blushes and sits down again. Re-shuffling her papers and trying to look busy.

"It doesn't exactly explain the injuries Mr Niccals." She croaks, clearing her throat. Murdoc sighs and shakes his head. Looking down at his feet as if he's disappointed at her. She turns her eyes up at him briefly. Then looks back down to the list of injuries. "How exactly, does a comatose patient break his collar bone?" She continues, holding up the list and pointing it out on the page. Murdoc steps back and rolls his eyes.

"That! Probably happened when he fell off the bridge?" Murdoc explains with a shrug. The nurses mouth drops open in shock and she slowly lowers the list. Her mind reeling as she tries to work out if Murdoc was serious or not. Realizing he was serious, she shuts her mouth with a click and slaps the list down on the table. Standing up quickly and with her eyes blazing, she picks up the phone.

"I'm reporting you to the police! You can't get away with this." She snarls, dialing the number. Murdoc startles and steps quickly forwards. Taking the phone from her hand and replacing the handset in it's cradle. She steps back as if expecting the worst. But Murdoc smiles pleasantly and lowers his voice.

"Aww. C'mon luv. You don't think I'd intentionally hurt the little fella now, do you?" He coos. She eyes him suspiciously and steps forwards again. Murdoc takes a deep breath and continues. "Lemme explain what happened. You see, I was taking young Stuart for a walk. It was a lovely day and I thought it would be nice to go see the swans down the park. Now we were standing on this stone bridge. And I realized that because of how low the wheelchair was, he couldn't see over the wall. So I thought I'd help him up. I lost my balance and he just toppled over. It was an accident. And I felt really terrible about it. Honest." He gives her a soulful puppy dog look, and the nurse softens a little. She looks back down to Stuart in the chair and then sharply back up to Murdoc. Once again slitting her eyes.

"But he's unconscious? He couldn't of seen the swans anyway?" She questions, placing her hands on her hips and tipping her head to her shoulder. Murdoc s eyes travel down the line of her uniform and over her hips to her legs. A shock of sexual excitement, at what he sees runs through him and he licks his lips. Clearing his throat, he moves back over to Stuarts wheel chair and takes hold of the handles.

"Luv. Maybe to you and I that is the case? But who knows with him. Fer all we know he's taking all this in. So I'm not going to waste anymore of his time. He and I have a date with destiny. So ta tah fer now. Unless you have any other plans this evening that is?" Murdoc pauses long enough to see whether his ruse worked. The nurse looks in puzzlement at the boy, then back up to Murdoc. She shrugs and sits down again, deciding the devious Bassist was right. No one really did know if people in a coma really were aware enough to know what was happening to them. She sighs and waves him on, writing a short note on the list. Stating that the injuries were mere accidents. Murdoc grins and wheels the boy from the ward and out to the waiting car. Happy that he'd managed to worm his way out of that situation altogether. Little did Murdoc know, his claim that he and Stuart had a date with destiny, was soon to become very true.

A few days later, Murdoc is driving the comatose Stuart through the streets of Nottingham. He is just passing Tescos. When he hears the screech of car tires, and looks over into the car park. Some young hoods were tearing their cars round the almost empty allotment. Pulling fish tails and doughnuts. Really tearing up the tarmac, and showing off to some very nice looking girls. Murdoc can't resist and pulls the car sharply round. Cutting off another car that is following closely behind him, and almost causing an accident. He gives the angry driver behind him a two finger salute, and pulls into the parking lot. Leaving the car engine running. He watches as one of the goons finishes his routine and moves away. Seeing the gap, Murdoc drops the clutch and screeches forwards. The wheels smoking behind him, leaving a filthy grey cloud trail. As he tears into the open area. He looks out his window and sees the girls hooting and cheering. One of them lifting her top and showing him her bare breasts. With his adrenaline now pumping madly through him, he turns to the unbelted Stuart and smiles.

"Buckle up Faceache. Time to show these morons what a professional can do. Mawhaw, haw, haw." He chuckles and speeds the car forwards. He hits the brakes at the end, and tears the steering wheel sharply round. Making the back of the car drift round, and end up with the car facing the way it had just come from. Stuart is flung with the momentum, from one side of the back seat to the other, his face coming to rest on the side window. Without letting the car come to a complete stop. Murdoc hits the accelerator and moves forwards again. The engine screaming as the tires desperately try to grip the oil covered surface. Stuart drops almost to the floor, with his face between his knees. Murdoc gains speed and moves into the middle of the open area. Turning the wheel sharply to full lock. He begins a series of doughnuts, his arm hanging out the widow encouraging the audience to cheer. The crowd roars as they count the number of times he makes the car come round. Before it finally manages to find traction and roar away again. Not satisfied, he speeds up the straight again and once again drifts the car around. The unbuckled young man drops sideways between the seats. Murdoc revs the engine and stares at the open area, like a matador to a bull. He drops the clutch again and stamps his foot hard on the accelerator. The car begins screaming forwards again. Murdoc blows a few kisses at the girls as he sails by. Leaving a large fishtail behind him. Not seeing the steel bollard up ahead, he lets go of the brake and the car speeds forwards again. The Bassist looks up, just in time to finally see the bollard. But doesn't have enough time to do anything about it. The car slams into it at full speed. Suddenly Stuart flies forwards between the seats. Passing by Murdoc s shoulder. His head hits the windscreen and his body passes through the shower of glass. He sails over the bonnet until finally disappearing from view. Murdoc looks at the broken windshield, and still gripping the steering wheel tightly, slowly begins to chuckle.

"I did it again." He suddenly roars with laughter. The thought that this was now twice he'd bounced a car off the boys head. Made it too hard for him not to laugh. The back of a blue head suddenly appears over the bonnet of the car. And Murdoc stops laughing as the boy slowly stands and turns around. Murdoc watches the scene as if it was in slow motion. This tall lanky youth, turning like a zombie towards him. Looking at him with two black-hole eyes. A sparkle of thought grows in the uncaring Bassist, as he stares intently at the blue haired young zombie-like God. He reaches over to the car door and opens it slowly. Stepping out for a closer look at the being he had just created. 'Amazin'. Truly amazin'. That is exactly what I need.' He thinks to himself.

"Ya right there mate?" Murdoc asks the confused young man. Stuart looks up at the Bassist. Squinting hard and trying to get his eyes to work. Murdoc isn't too sure whether to approach him fully or not, and remains back from him a short distance. Stuart shakes his head and reaches up to rub his eyes. But finds they aren't where he last remembered them to be. He searches a little till he finds they have been pushed back further into his head. The young man panics a little. Struggling forward on weak legs to the side mirror of the car for a closer look.

"Wot happened? Where are me eyes?" Stuart squeaks, searching in the mirror for them. He can just see them back there in the darkness. The whites of his eyes gone and replaced by an inky black fluid. He looks up at the silently chuckling Murdoc. Who immediately stops chuckling and looks back at him innocently.

"I saved yer life. Git in the car." Murdoc grunts and shoves the boy aside, opening the drivers door and climbing back in. Stuart scratches his head and shrugs, not really having any idea what else he could really do. And not even knowing where he was. The last thing he remembered was standing in Uncle Norms, and something shiny and silver coming towards him at great speed. But that was about all. Murdoc reverses the car. And the sound of scraping metal and crunching fills the cabin. Making Stuarts head pound even more than it was before.

"Awww, my head really hurts." He groans, and curls up in his seat. Murdoc rolls his eyes and pulls the crumpled car out of the parking lot. He reaches across the car and yanks open the glove compartment. Pulling out a small bottle of pills he'd been given by someone, some time ago. He tosses them carelessly into the boys lap and returns his hand to the steering wheel.

"Yeah. Take a couple of them and stop yer whining. I've got summink to show you." He replies. Stuart, opens the bottle and shakes a couple of pills into his hand. Tossing them back and replacing the lid, he looks around for something to wash them down with. Murdoc sees him out the corner of his eye and nods towards a bottle of Scotch on the floor at the boys feet. Stuart looks down and reaches for the bottle, taking a large gulp and choking down the painkillers.

"Where are we goin... err? Sir?" Stuart asks, squinting at the blurred scenery as it rushes by. Murdoc overtakes a slow moving car ahead, and indicates to go round a corner. Taking it so sharply that he makes the car behind him blare it's horn.

"Oh fuck off you moron. Learn to drive!" Murdoc snarls and speeds up again. "The names Murdoc. I'm yer legal guardian ya might say. And I'm taking you to where we first met. Now shuddup and let me drive." Stuart mouths a silent 'Oh.' And sits back in his seat. Not too sure if he really trusts this strange, green man. But seeing he had very little choice at the moment he closes his black-hole eyes and sighs. Opening them again a little wider, and poking at them with a tentative finger. Silently lamenting how he looks right now.

A few hours later, Murdoc pulls up out the front of the now derelict Organ Emporium and shuts off the engine. He unbuckles his seat and looks over at Stuart. Who is staring absently into space. He stops for a moment and studies the boy. Eventually poking him in the arm with a finger and trying to get his attention.

"Oi. We're here." He says, waiting for a response. Not getting one he jabs the boy sharply again. Stuart blinks and looks over at him quizzically. "We're here. Doncha go slippin' back into a coma again. Because I'm tired of wipin' yer backside. Git out of the car!" Stuart complies and steps out of the vehicle, looking over at the now boarded up building with shock.

"Wot happened? It wasn't like this before?" The boy asks, walking round the car and into the road. A car moves quickly towards the dazed youth, and Murdoc grabs him by the arm. Sharply pulling him back and out of the way.

"What the fuck are ya doin'?! Tryin' ta git yerself killed or summink?! I'm not wipin' you off the road either. That's twice I've saved ya now! C'mere." Murdoc grabs Stuart roughly on the upper arm and checks the road. Finding it clear of traffic, he drags Stuart across and deposits him safely on the other side. Stuart blushes and cringes away from the angry man. Waiting to see what to do next. Murdoc rolls his eyes and walks over to the boarded up hole. Where his stolen Vauxhall had, just six months before, sailed through. Tearing the board from the building, and propping it up on the wall. Murdoc steps through and into the devastated interior. Closely followed by the still dazed and confused young man, who smiles as he remembers the old shop. After walking around a while and telling a very bored Murdoc, what he used to do. And where he used to stand when he'd worked there. Stuart once again approaches Murdoc.

"But that woz like yesterday, or sumfink? How did it get ta be like this?" The young man asks, tipping his head to his shoulder and scratching his arm nervously. Murdoc sighs and lights up a cigarette. I crashed into it. And that wasn't yesterday neither. You've been in a coma fer six months." The Bassist answers, blowing a smoke ring into the boys face. Stuart squints and waves the ring away.

"Whaddya mean? I don' understand?" Stuart complains in frustration. He turns away slapping his hands over his ears, and not really wanting to hear the answer. Looking now silently over the broken glass, and splinters of wood. The remnants of Police tape begin gently waving in the breeze that is blowing in through the broken shop window. His mind strains, trying to fit the fractured memories together. The sound of a roaring engine, and the smell of gasoline cutting through his mind. Tinkling glass falling down like stars. And a brilliant white light, that makes his head ache even more than before. He shakes his pounding head and moans softly. Gently kicking a broken plank of wood out of the way, with the toe of his sand shoe. Murdoc walks over and slaps his hand on the boys back. Steering him back to the hole and almost shoving him through it.

"I'll explain it later. C'mon, we have one more stop to make." Piling the youth back into the car and driving him back home to the Winnie. He stops the car and gets out. Stuart climbs out of the car, and looks at the mustard colored wagon smiling. He points at it and laughs loudly.

"Wot a piece of rubbish that is hey? I wouldn't wanna live in dat for all the money in the world." Stuart chuckles, covering his mouth with his hand and slightly doubling over in giggles. Murdoc draws his lips back over his shark-like teeth and takes the keys from his pocket. Approaching the front door of his beloved Winnie and unlocking it, looking sharply back at the youth. Stuart gulps loudly, realizing his minder IS the owner. "Sorry. I woz only..." Murdoc cuts him off with another vicious look and a guttural growl. Pointing the way inside sharply. Stuart cautiously approaches and reaches up for the door frame. Not quite sure what else to expect. Stepping up and inside the wagon he is immediately hit by the smell. "Pwoorah. Worra stink!" he gasps. Murdoc shoves the boy in the back hard, making him stumble into a heap on the floor. Then steps up into the wagon and follows him in.

"Shuddup! Ya not makin' this any better ya know." Murdoc growls, slamming the door behind him. The young man scrambles to his feet and covers his nose with his hand. Murdoc glares at him and moves over to one of the wardrobes, opening it and pulling out an organ, he'd picked up a few months back. After listening to what the boy had said about his time working in the shop. The Bassist wonders if maybe the kid had some talent. He sets it up in front of the boy and sits down. Waiting to see what Stuart would do. The young man looks from the organ to the Bassist, unsure what was meant to happen and shrugs. Murdoc slaps the keys and encourages the boy with a grunt, to play. A few seconds later, the interior of the Winnie is filled with a glorious sound. As Stuart plays like a chorus of angels. Instantly, Murdocs head fills with the sound of hundreds of cash registers. KA'CHING! Bonus. The boy can play. Suddenly, the Bassist hears something else. Singing? He opens his eyes, and looks with surprise towards the direction he can hear the singing coming from. Stuart is singing to the song he is playing. And doing it extremely well to. Double bonus! He smiles broadly at the boy and rubs his hands together. Everything had finally fallen into place, he had a singer and keyboardist in one. Combined with his Bass work. Now all he needed was the rest of the band and his dreams of fame and fortune would be fulfilled.

"Kid! You and me are gunna do some amaaaaaaazin' things together. Fer one thing, you can move in with me. That bench seat folds out to be a bed." He smiles pointing at it. "Lemme tell ya about me dream." Murdoc sits the boy down and explains everything to him. How he'd gotten several bands together. How hard he had worked trying to get things organized. Finishing with how they, through their "lack of talent", had ended up spoiling it all for him. Stuart sits quietly listening. As far as the boy was concerned, this wasn't exactly how he'd planned his life. He'd always wanted to make and produce movies. But something about Murdoc make him shiver inside. And he didn't feel he really wanted to say no. Something about those shark-like teeth, said he'd eat the boy if he did. And given what he'd said about saving his life, made him wonder if maybe he owed him anyway. He nods and agrees deciding that if it didn't work out, at least he could always make movies later.


End file.
